Regrets
by MyBlueOblivion
Summary: Movieverse. Edmund Pevensie went through massive changes during The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. From brat, to traitor, to saviour, to King, this story covers his thoughts during his most defining moments during the film. Rated for darker themes.
1. Regrets

Regrets

It's a funny thing to think that I never used to feel the cold. No, that's not entirely true. I felt it, but it bothered me less. Winter used to be my favourite time of year; building snow-men with Father, snow-ball fights with Peter, the squeals Lucy used to make when I tipped fresh snow down the back of her neck... it all seems so far away now. So long ago.

I feel the cold now. In fact, I don't think I've ever felt this cold. Strange... I never knew what the grown-ups meant by 'bitterly cold'. How could it be bitter? It's a feeling, not a taste! At least, that's what I used to think. I know better now. You see, I've felt it. Aching, biting, gnawing cold. A cold that goes beyond freezing. It gets inside you, cuts through you, takes you apart from the inside out. Every breath hurts as it stings away at your lungs... making every breath sour. Bitter, even.

Not too dissimilar to poisoned Turkish Delight, I find myself thinking somewhat ruefully.

In a way, some small part of me is actually glad of the cold. As I sit here, hugging my knees, waiting for _her_ to come back, I feel terribly sorry for myself. But the more I think about it, the more I realise that I have next to no right to feel sorry for myself, but every _need_ to feel sorry for my actions. And I am, oh, how I am. For the first time in... I can't remember how long! How sad to think that... For the first time in, well, _years_, I guess, I wish my family was here. And the cold, in its way, reminds me of what I have done, what brought me here. And that small part of me is glad, because the cold has brought me to terms with the saddest fact of my existence.

I deserve this. And so much more. I look at my skin, see the ghostly blue-green colour it has taken on from the glow of the ice around me, and I find it a fitting metaphor. A visible sign of the taint within. For my surroundings mirror precisely what I have been toward my family. Cold, distant, almost alien. I had cut myself off from them for the stupidest reason of all; I had believed that, if I let go of them now, distanced myself deliberately and forcefully, then it wouldn't hurt when they left of their own accord. Like Father did when he went away to war. Like Peter...

No. Peter never left. It wasn't his fault, he's only human after all... I couldn't expect him to be there for me all the time. But when he wasn't, it hurt all the same...

_I had been so afraid. But you had comforted me, just like you always did. You pulled me close, told me you loved me, that you would look out for me. And I believed you, and trusted you, and though I would never admit it to you, I loved you more then than at any other point in my life. Standing there, in the prickling grey mass of my new uniform, feeling so very small in the face of my new school, your words gave me hope._

_Those hopes had been dashed mere hours later. Some of the older boys had asked me for my lunch money, and I had said no. I had told them defiantly that you would come, and then they would be sorry. But they just laughed. And you never came._

_The first blow did more than split my lip and knock me down. It broke my faith in you. Because, like the angry, spoilt child that I am, I let it. I was angry because my brother, my Peter, hadn't come to my rescue. And I realised then that you weren't perfect. You were no longer my hero, the perfect brother I had believed you to be. My anger blinded me to everything else, and like so many things it became easier in the end to just continue with it, rather than admit to a mistake and change. And because of that, every time I failed to match up to the standard you set, every time I failed where you succeeded, I began to hate you more and more... Almost as much as I hated myself._

I see, now, the error of my ways. And I wish I could take it all back, every angry word, every spiteful act...

I wish I could hold Lucy in my arms just one more time. I wish I could tell her how much she means to me, that she is summer to my winter, that her endless happiness is one of the things in this life I envied most. That I had been cruel to her, made her miserable, to bring her down to my level. Because I knew, deep down, that I could never reach hers.

I miss Susan so much. I miss her warm smile and gentle touch, ever present, ever comforting. Even when she nagged at me, somewhere inside I knew that she only ever tried to be so smart because she loved us, that she wanted to protect us from all the unseen dangers of the world. I had resented her so much for that, thrown so much scorn and sarcasm at her for her efforts. And now I wish with all my heart that I could hear her voice one more time. Even if it was just for her to nag at me.

But most of all, I wish I could see Peter. Just for a little while. To have just one chance to tell him how sorry I am, to tell him that I know now why he snaps at me the way he does. It's because he never lost faith in me, the way I lost faith in him. Every time I do something spiteful, every time I talk back to Mum or tease Lucy, every time I shout at him or Susan to leave me alone, that they aren't my parents, it _hurts_ him. It's like every word has taken a knife blade to his heart. Because he still sees, beneath all the hurt and anger and childish hate that I have become, the Edmund that _was_. His little brother.

And, were I allowed just one single regret before the end, it would be this: that I never told him that I was sorry for all I had done. That I knew, in my heart, that he didn't deserve my anger, because he hadn't done anything wrong. That it had all been me, my selfishness, my pride. And I would tell him that I loved him so very, very much, that he was still the one I looked up to. Still my hero. And most of all, I would apologise for not being the brother I should have been.

My short time here, in this cell, has changed me, though I probably don't realise just how much. It has shown me the error of my ways, the sin that I will have to pay for, probably sooner rather than later, and it has taught me that I have missed so much of the joy that life has presented to me. I have learnt a new appreciation for all that I took for granted. And I have even learnt two new definitions of 'cold'.

Cold can indeed be bitter, and not just in the literal sense. Winter can be spiteful, hateful even, because it can not support life the way that the other seasons can. It can have beauty, yes, a certain cold majesty, but it can never know vibrancy or joy like the others. And, in it's own way, it seeks bitterly to destroy all that it touches, all the warmth that it can never possess.

Just like _her_.

I can hear her voice, shouting orders to her servants. She seems to be calling for an army to be raised, her orders are so many, though I can't hear her words clearly. But I can hear the anger in her voice, the hate, and it chills me anew that it is directed toward my family. The beavers had mentioned that my family were held as a shining hope for summer after an endless winter, for freedom from cold tyranny. As I listen to the sounds of the Witch and her dwarf coming closer, listen to her voice that is warm as winter's kiss, I know that she intends to destroy them. And so, I make a pledge.

If, by God's grace, I ever get away from this place, if the powers that be see fit to let me see my family once more, this I promise. That I will do all in my power to right the wrongs I have done. I vow that I will do anything, everything, to heal the wounds I have caused, that I will fight to my last breath to repair all that I can. And at this moment I swear that, if it is what fate requires of me, I will lay down my life for them. No more mistakes. No more regrets.

As I look down at the meal that has been left for me, a frozen cup of water and a stale lump of bread, it appears for all the world that my redemption will be a long time coming...

* * *

Author's Notes: I own nothing of this world, nor the characters that reside within. They all belong to C. S. Lewis first and foremost, a true master of the writer's art. After that, it belongs to whoever owns the copyright, I guess. 

It is, however, a truly wonderful place in which to play...

Sorry if this was perhaps a little darker than some would like. And I apologise if Edmund's thought processes here are perhaps a little more involved or mature than would be feasible. This is all really based on an observation that the actor who played Ed in the film (Skandar Keynes, bless his cotton socks, did a pretty good job, I feel) looked truly miserable in the dungeon scene. And I got thinking as to what went through the character's mind while he was down there. This is the result. I hope I didn't get too carried away!

Any thoughts/criticisms/flames/questions are very much welcome. I'm hoping to post a couple of stories in this fandom, and would love to know what you think of my first attempt at Narniafic. So please review, it always means a lot! Bye for now...


	2. Losing Faith

Losing Faith

"Why so sad, your _Majesty_?"

I don't have to see his face to know who it is. Even if I didn't recognise his voice immediately, the tell would be in his tone. Behind the harsh rasp of his words, there lies a wealth of hatred, spite and sarcasm. It's a tone I know well, and not just because it's one I've heard come from the dwarf many times in the last couple of days. It's very like a tone I used to hear almost every day. My own, in fact. I shudder at the thought, and feel the sharp sting of bile touch my throat.

Am I... was I... as bad as him? A vile, loathsome, perfectly horrid little beast? I look at this Ginnarbrik, see his sneer as he walks past me on some kind of errand, and I have to wonder. Similar names have been used for me, in the past, and not always when no-one thought I could hear. Was this what I was like? I know I went out of my way to push everyone away from me, to hurt the ones I loved so that when the time came for them to leave, it wouldn't hurt so much. I had been selfish and cruel, yes, but... is this really what it was like, standing on the other side?

If it is, then I'm further gone than I thought. I never thought I was being that bad. I was only trying to protect myself, wasn't I? Trying to make the pain go away? Was that really such a bad thing to want? I don't know, any more. Nothing makes sense to me, not since I walked into _her_ castle so willingly. The dwarf hinted that I had been bewitched, and had laughed at me for being such a fool. Knowing that I wasn't fully in my right mind should have helped my conscience, but it didn't, which I suspect is what he wanted.

You see, in every story I ever read growing up, every fairytale, there was a common theme for those heroes who ended up being enchanted. They all had some weakness to begin with. Be it greed, or selfishness, or pride, there was always a way for the sorceress to get a hold on the hero. It didn't matter how shiny their armour was, or how valiant the steed, it couldn't stop them from being themselves. And so, for me to have been enchanted, it makes me think that I'm probably further gone than even I realise.

I shift against my bonds, and one of the creatures nearby eyes me carefully. I don't know how they think I'm going to escape, but still they watch. I've never been the strongest chap, or the most athletic; that was always Peter's field. But I doubt even he could get out of this situation. The cords that bind my wrists are so unbearably tight, that they feel as though they are burning directly into my skin. My fingers went numb ages ago, leaving that maddening, prickling sensation to form in my hands and arms.

The rest of me is tied to a tree, so tight that breathing was a little difficult at first. The twisted roots of the tree are digging into my back, causing sharp pain with every small movement. After the first hour or so of being tied here, the pain became so much that I started to cry, I'm ashamed to say. Instead of moving me, the guards called Ginnarbrik. The vicious pig had jeered at me, calling me names that I didn't recognise but sounded awful nonetheless. He had slapped my face, hard, then gagged my mouth so tight that my face was almost forced into a kind of grin. And all the while, he had that awful, leering smile written on his face. How can someone get so much enjoyment from the suffering of another?

It doesn't look like I'm going to survive this. The White Witch (for I can no longer refer to her as a queen) has given me the choice of joining her, helping her to betray my family and the people of this land further. She says that if I help her, she will let me live, but I don't believe her any more than I believe in Father Christmas. She plans to kill me, just like she plans to kill my family. The thought threatens to bring more tears to my eyes, but I hold them back. Tears won't help anyone now, especially not me.

When the Witch had me dragged from that cell, and took me on a wild chase through the snow, I confess I harboured thoughts of escape. When it became apparent that I was being too carefully watched, I entertained thoughts of rescue. I hoped that Peter would come to save me, or even one of the girls. I had even hoped that when they reached Aslan's camp, they would be able to mount some kind of rescue. As the night begins to draw in, it seems as though it was too much to hope.

After all, why _should_ they rescue me? What am I to them, but a traitor? For all my wanting to see my family, wanting to make amends, it has crossed my mind more than once that they might not _want_ to save me. After all, Mr. Tumnus wasn't the only one I betrayed for sweeties, as the Witch put it... I betrayed them, too. My own family. I can just see the anger on their faces, the tears in Lucy's eyes, the disappointment on Susan's features. The disgust in Peter's eyes. And as much as I know that I deserve their hatred, I find a small part of me rebelling against the thought, and becoming angry at them for abandoning me so easily.

No. I don't know that. I must not lose faith in my family, no matter what comes. I have to trust that everything will work out in the end, in this life or the next. Because, if I lose my grip on the thought of being with them again, being a family like we used to be, then I'm giving into _her_. And I won't do it. I won't give her the satisfaction.

I wonder what my family are doing now. Did the wolves find them? Did they make it to this Aslan? Most importantly, are they safe? I would give anything to know that they are well, that Aslan's army is going to protect them. I wish I could be there with them... but that doesn't seem possible now. I can hope, and I will cling to that hope with all my strength. But, at the same time, I have to accept the truth, the whole, awful truth.

I'm going to die here. And with those terrible words in my mind, I finally drift, exhausted, into my first sleep in nearly two days...

O o O o O

I awaken minutes, maybe days, later, and notice the gloom pulling in around me. I can hear noises from the camp nearby, sounds of far more creatures than there were earlier. I can hear a rasping noise, like metal on stone, the clattering sounds of weapons being moved, bestial grunts and howls and roars as an army prepares for war. They leave me feeling chilled, even more than the nip of the air around me. But those aren't the sounds I concentrate on. Something else is making itself heard, and I fear that noise more than the others.

Laughter. Cruel, vicious, mirthless laughter. It grates against my nerves, because I know what will follow it, if the dwarf is left to his own devices. I can still feel the welts and bruises from the last time he attacked me, and I shudder at the thought of enduring more. I wonder, briefly, what happened in his life to make him like this... I wonder if he was born cruel. I decide that I will probably never know, and as I finally see him approaching it fades into insignificance.

"Is our little prince _uncomfortable_?" he hisses as he walks close by, cuffing the side of my head as he does so. "Would you like your pillows fluffed? That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Special treatment, for the _special boy_!" I cringe at his words; partly from fear of what he's going to do next, and partly because he's telling the truth. The words sting, far sharper even than some of the times he has struck me. And, for a brief instant, I can't help but think again that I deserve all of this, that I'm not worth saving, that I'm too tainted now to be anything other than worthy of this punishment.

I must be hallucinating. I have to be. Why else would I be seeing a dozen or so creatures in shining armour storming toward me? I can see fauns, and creatures that are more goat than man. At the lead is a massive being, man from the waist up and horse everywhere else... what did they call those at school? Cen... centaur, I think. Either way, he is huge! And he is wielding a sword that has to be as big as me. They're closer now, I can't believe that Ginnarbrik hasn't seen them...

He's seen them! He's for it now, I can tell. Everything is happening so fast... The centaur has his sword pointed at the dwarf's chest, and I can feel hands untying me. Around me, there are creatures screaming as the fauns and goat-things go to work, and I find myself thankful that I can't see much. I can hear voices around me, telling me to stand, that we have to run before the alarm is raised properly... but... my legs are weak, and my head feels funny... and as the world goes dark, I feel strong hands grasping me, lifting me, and taking me away from this hell...

O o O o O

Where... where am I? I'm being held, carried, and I forget where I am for a minute. Then it comes back... the rescue. I've been rescued! I can feel the wind whipping around me, and hear quick hoof-beats. I am being carried, curled up, in the arms of the centaur, held tight against his chest. Around me, I can see precious little, just glints of the armour worn by the other soldiers as it catches the moonlight.

I manage to look up at my rescuer, wondering how best to thank him. He looks down at me for a few seconds, his features stern and intense, and I feel my words die in my throat. As he looks back up again, I feel a lump form in my throat. His expression was plain; he thought of me as a traitor, barely worth his effort to rescue. He is doing this, not for me, but because he has been ordered to. The thought hurts me, and I realise now that my hopes of true salvation were foolish. How could anyone want me, a traitor?

Yet, if that is the case, why rescue me at all? To punish me themselves? I am too tired, and nothing makes sense any more. In all truth, I'm not sure I care any more, so long as I don't have to see _her _again. I lean my head against the centaur's chest, resigning myself to the fact that, whether or not he will ever accept me as a person, he has rescued me from _her_, and I can ask no more. I am free, and for all my fears, I am grateful. As I drift back off to sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm hoof-beats and breathing, I whisper the only two words that come to mind.

"Thank you."

* * *

Author's notes: And if he'd looked up at that point, he might just have seen Oreius' face soften. At least a little bit.

I own nothing of Narnia, nor the characters that live there. Same disclaimer as previously, really.

This is, in part, inspired by the wonderful works of Electrum. In one of her fics (I forget which), Oreius mentions that he had expected to find nothing but a traitor when he rescued Ed, yet found himself undone by a ten year old boy, who had been wronged as much as he had done wrong. Go and read Electrum's stories now, if you haven't already, they are truly brilliant.

So, whaddya think? It was meant to be a bit 'all over the place'; Ed wouldn't have been thinking very straight by this point in the film, after all. I just hope it wasn't too confusing. Any and all comments welcome!


	3. Forgiveness

Forgiveness

"Wake up, Son of Adam. We are here."

The words seem distant and close all at the same time, as I slowly wake up. As I open my eyes, I realise that I am no longer being carried by the centaur, but am instead lying on the ground. It's cold, as the first rays of sunlight are just beginning to show behind the surrounding hills, and I shiver a little. I look up, and see the centaur standing over me, an unreadable expression on his face. It's less stern than before, and a little more kind, but there is still so much mistrust there. I stand as quickly as I can, stretching as I do so, and face my rescuer.

"Um... thanks," I manage to mumble, unsure and not a little afraid. I still don't know what will become of me, but even so, he did save me. "For... for saving me, I mean. From her." The centaur simply nods at me, his features softening as he does so. When he next speaks to me, his voice is not so stern.

"Wait here, Son of Adam. Aslan will speak with you shortly." And with that, he leaves. I look around briefly, and see that I am surrounded by tents. They have brought me to Aslan's camp, safe and sound.

Aslan. I'm not sure why, but that name fills me with a kind of quiet dread. It's the same feeling I got at the Beaver's dam, when they had told us the prophecy. I realise that it probably has something to do with the enchantment that was placed upon me, her influence corrupting me still. After all, this Aslan stands against _her_, so he surely must be good. But what will he make of me? Will he show mercy? Or will he punish me for all I have done? And if he does, what will it mean... will it mean my imprisonment, my banishment... or my death?

"Greetings, Son of Adam."

I hear a voice from behind me, deep and solemn, and I instantly know who it belongs to. I stand, rooted to the spot, unable to turn and face the owner of the voice... unable to face Aslan, for it can't be anyone else. I can hear breathing from behind me, loud and strong, the breath of something far larger than a human, and I wonder for a moment what kind of creature Aslan is. Fear washes over me, and I can feel myself starting to shake, and for the briefest moment I wish I was anywhere else but here.

"You need not tremble, child," says the voice. It carries no threat, only gentle warmth, and a warm, sweet air seems to surround me. Suddenly, I don't feel quite so afraid. "I will not harm you. I wish to speak with you, Son of Adam, if you will but turn and face me." Slowly, I turn to face him. I half shut my eyes, not sure I want to see the face of this being, whatever he may be.

When I finally see him, my breath is taken away. I don't think I've seen anything quite so beautiful, so noble, in all my life. I open my eyes wide, drinking in the image of the lion in all his golden glory. I find a part of myself wishing to reach out, to touch his mane, to stroke his fur. A part of me thinks that he is so wonderful, that if he decides here and now that I am worthy only of death, that I couldn't think badly of him at all. And another part of my mind suddenly feels very guilty that I had been so mean to another lion, not so very long ago.

"You're... Aslan, aren't you, sir?" I ask, feeling more sure of the answer.

"I am, child."

"Have you seen my family? Are they safe? How did they get here?" I blurt out, desperate to know and not caring too much if I seem rude for it.

"Peace, Son of Adam," Aslan says in reply, smiling with his eyes. "I tell no-one any story other than their own. Suffice to say, they are here, and they are safe. The rest you will have to ask them." An uneasy silence settles for a moment, before he speaks again.

"Who are you, Son of Adam?" Aslan asks, those golden eyes locking onto mine, steady and deep.

"I'm... I'm Edmund, s-sir," I manage to stutter out, completely intimidated, and not entirely sure of his meaning. He smiles, and I know that I have somehow given the wrong answer.

"I know your _name_, dear heart. You are Edmund Randall Pevensie, formerly of Finchley, third child and second son of George and Helen Pevensie. These things I know. But what I asked of you was who you _are_. There is a difference."

I look at Aslan, dumbfounded that he knows so much about me. And yet, I'm also completely at a loss as to what he means. I sense no condescension in his voice, no hidden meanings. He isn't trying to trip me up or make me look stupid, but even so that's how I feel. What does he mean by his question? Apparently my confusion is all too evident, as he changes the subject.

"Walk with me, Edmund," he says gently. "I have something to show you." He begins to walk, and I follow in silence. Slowly, we climb part of a nearby hill, until we're standing on a kind of outcropping that overlooks the camp that we had been standing in. Looking out over the tents in the valley below, Aslan asks me "Tell me what you see, Edmund."

"I see your camp," I reply simply, deciding it's better to listen to what he has to say. I can almost hear a slight purr from Aslan as he considers my answer.

"That _is_ what is there," he says after a moment. "But I see so much more. I see my family. I see brothers and sisters, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. I see faith, and loyalty, pride and courage. I see their fears, their hopes, both for themselves and for Narnia. I see all that they have done, everything that has brought them to this point, all the things that make them who they are." With an almost audible _snap_ it all falls into place. I know now what he was asking of me, and the answer that comes to mind makes me sick to my stomach. I dread that he will ask me again, and seconds later, I'm not disappointed.

"Do you know who you are, Edmund Pevensie?" I feel my lip start to tremble, and hot tears begin to form in my eyes. The answer tears from my throat without conscious thought, because I know who I am, and what I have done.

"I'm a traitor, Aslan."

"That is certainly something you have been and done," Aslan replies, turning to face me, his tone serious. "But is that who you truly are?"

"I'm a traitor of the worst kind," I answer, my voice shaking, unable to contain it any longer. The tears burning my eyes begin to flow down my cheeks, as I finally pour out all the darkness inside. "I... I tried to turn my family over to the Witch for... for sweets! I...I hated Peter so much for trying to be Dad... I was angry at Susan for being so smart, and Lucy for being the favourite... I just wanted to be special, to be the favourite, the perfect child that everyone wanted..."

Aslan just stands, silent, as years of pain, jealousy and anger flow forth in a vicious torrent. As I talk, I gain speed, until my thoughts literally are pouring out in an unstoppable tide... every time I had hurt Lucy, or taunted Susan. Every time I had argued with Peter, or whispered vile, horrid things to him when I thought no-one else could hear, about how he wasn't the perfect son they all took him for. I even tell Aslan about the conscious decision I had made to ignore the last thing Mum had asked me to do, to listen to Peter... I tell him it all, and still he patiently listens. Faster and faster I speak, louder and louder, building into full-blown hysterics, until the sobs racking my frame become too much, and I collapse in a heaving, sobbing ball at his feet.

Laying here, crying with sheer grief and remorse for everything I have done, I am vaguely aware of his presence above me. I feel him slowly lay down next to me, so that I am resting between his paws. I find it oddly comforting, and as I begin to calm down and my tears lessen, I say the one thing I most need to say. _I am sorry. I am so very sorry for all I have done and all I have said, and I will do anything to make it right._

"This is not who you are, my dear child," Aslan says finally, his voice so low that at first I'm not sure he if has really spoken. "This is what you have done, to yourself and those around you. If you could not recognise your actions as wrong, if you could show no remorse for your actions, then you would truly be that person. But you are not.

"In your heart, you have not seen that you were loved, that you were seen as special by those around you. You felt inadequate, and so assumed that your family saw the same, instead of seeing that they loved you for who you were. You clung to the anger and jealousy, and drove all others away for fear they would do the same to you. I do not condone your actions, Edmund. You have done much wrong, and made many mistakes. But your willingness to rectify those actions tells me who you truly are.

"You have a good heart, despite all you have done and all that has been done to you. You have seen both sides of life, both dark and light, and know the difference better for it. You are loved by your family, despite all you have done, and that in itself tells me that you are not who you think you are, but a far better person indeed. Stand up, my son."

I stand slowly, aching and tired, completely spent by my outburst. I wipe the wetness from my face, grinding the heel of my right palm into my eyes to clear them. I feel ashamed to have cried, but looking into Aslan's face, I begin to feel cleansed, somehow. That it was precisely what I needed. And I feel utterly thankful for that fact, that Aslan has helped me to find that release. Composing myself, I meet his gaze far more steadily than I have previously.

"There will be dire consequences for your actions, young one," the lion says, his voice grave. "But rest assured, no harm will befall you while I am here. I fear that your pain will not pass quickly, Edmund, nor will it be easy for others to accept all you have done. Though it may be easier for them to forgive you, than for you to forgive yourself. That, in and of itself, is far worse than any punishment that I would administer. All I ask is that you stay true to your promise to change, and to treat others with the kindness and fairness that you wish to be treated with. Remember all you have done, Edmund, and learn the lesson well."

"I will, Aslan."

"_EDMUND!"_

An excited cry grabs my attention, and I look down at the tents below. There, my heart leaps into my throat as I see my family gathering at the base of the hill. Peter has just grabbed Lucy, stopping her from running up to me. I wonder if it's because he realises that my conversation with Aslan is meant to be private, or because of something else. Icy fingers of fear clutch my heart, and I turn to Aslan, an unasked question in my eyes.

"Courage, dear heart," he says, and breathes softly on me. I feel myself relax at once. "As I said, it will not be easy. So few of the worthwhile things in life are. Just know that your family love you dearly, far more than you may ever know. Now, walk with me, Edmund Pevensie, and do not fear. I am with you."

With heavy footsteps, I begin to follow him toward my brother and sisters. I have waited for this moment for what seems to be a lifetime, and yet it is the hardest journey I have ever had to make. The journey to earn their forgiveness, and my own, lays before me, and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to get there...

* * *

Author's Notes: I do not own the wonderful world of Narnia, nor the characters that reside within. Sad, but true. One can wish, however...

Again, this was inspired by watching the movie and reading the book. Edmund has always been my favourite Narnia character, as his transformation from brat, to traitor, to saviour, to judge has always intrigued me. In particular, I wanted to cover the two big turning points for him; his conversation with Aslan, and the inevitable conversation with his brother. This chapter was supposed to cover both of those, but it ended up growing beyond what I had expected of it. As a result, Peter's little chat with Ed will get a chapter of its own. After that, it just really leaves the Battle of Beruna (a well covered subject, but one I hope to bring something new to), and his thoughts at and after the coronation, and possibly even a chat with Mr. Tumnus (another well covered plot-line).

Finally, another big shout out to Elecktrum, for her help and support (not to mention letting me borrow Edmund's middle name!), and to everyone who has reviewed so far. Your support means more than you may ever know. Thank you.


	4. Silent Promises

Silent Promises

There was a time, not so very long ago, that being in this position would have made me cringe with embarrassment at best, and recoil with outright disgust at worst. Now, as Lucy throws her arms around me with unabashed glee, shortly followed by a slightly more controlled Susan, I can't think of any place I'd rather be. I can feel their love, their happiness at my return almost unscathed. I rest my head on Lucy's, closing my eyes and drinking in this sensation, strange and alien as it feels. A feeling of being loved that I had forgotten, like the ghost of a dream. It's so wonderful that I'm only barely aware that Aslan has gone.

As Susan wraps her arms around me, whispers the words _we missed you_ into my ear, the feeling intensifies to the point where I could almost cry. She pulls back, keeping her hand on my shoulder, and gives me an appraising look with those searching, blue-grey eyes. She's assessing the hurt that has been done to me, checking my cut lip and my bruised eye, and for a moment I can see her looking deeper still. She searches my eyes for something, I'm not sure what, and after a moment she finally speaks openly.

"How do you feel?" she asks, and I realise now just how much I had missed her slightly mothering tone.

"I'm okay," I manage after a few seconds, surprised at just how weak my own voice sounds. "A little tired." Susan's response, forming behind the worried expression in her eyes, is cut off by the one voice I had both needed and feared the most. My brother, my hero.

"Get some sleep." His words, though not unkind, are not what bother me. There's no greeting, no _welcome back_, and certainly no warmth. There's cold steel in his voice, the tang of suppressed anger, and it stings bitterly. All at once, the spell is broken, and as I look upward with hesitant eyes I see that my worst fears are coming true: he doesn't want me back. He can neither forgive nor forget what I have done, and I was an idiot to believe otherwise. Once more feeling the weight of my mistakes on my shoulders, I slowly move in the direction Peter has motioned for me.

"And Edmund?" I turn, hearing a softening in his voice, and look into his eyes, fearful of what I will see. Peter's face softens, creasing into a smile, and I am overjoyed to hear his next words.

"Try not to wander off!"

O o O o O

_I had been five, no, six years old the first time someone had said that to me. Lucy had been ill with a summer cold, and Father had decided that, to give Mother a little peace, he would take the rest of us to the park. We had walked there, talking happily, and I remember enjoying the chance to spend some time with Father. He was always so busy with work, it seemed, that he didn't spend as much time with any of us as he would have liked. I held his hand, talking and laughing, and thrilling every time he smiled at me, or laughed at one of my jokes. It's silly, but it is, to this day, one of my favourite memories._

_We ran around for a while, enjoying the summer day. Susan settled down to make daisy chains, while Father, Peter and I started to fly Peter's new kite. We took turns to fly it, watching as it swept back and forth across the slight breeze. Everything was going well, until it became my turn to fly. I got a bit over-excited, and lost control of the kite, sending it crashing into the ground. We could hear it break from where we stood. Father immediately walked over to retrieve it, leaving Peter and myself alone._

"_Oh, well done, Edmund!" Peter began to whine. "Why couldn't you just be careful?" I heard the disappointment in his voice, saw the blame in his eyes, and did the very last thing I should have done. I ran. Before Peter could stop me, or father could react, I was gone. I hadn't intended to run far, and I certainly hadn't meant to frighten anyone. But before I knew it, I had lost sight of my family, and anything that even looked familiar._

_It must have been a good half an hour before they found me; as it turned out, I hadn't got very far, after all. Father came into view, his face frantic, Peter and Susan close behind. I was standing close to a small copse of trees, bawling my eyes out as any self respecting six year-old would. As soon as I saw them, I ran forward, desperate to be with my family. Father spotted me at about the same time, and for a second he looked ready to start shouting at me. But a second later, when he took in the state I had worked myself into, he simply dropped to his knees and caught me up in a hug._

_Wrapped in his arms, I cried out the fear, quickly following them with tears of remorse at breaking the kite. I repeated the word 'sorry' over and over, the syllables overlapping, my father gently rubbing my back in soothing circles, calming me down slowly. Eventually, he pulled back, setting me down, and his serious expression conveyed without words the gravity of what I had done. After a moment, he smiled, erasing my worry completely._

"_Come on," he said, standing and taking my hand gently. "Let's get you home. And, Edmund? Do try not to wander off, okay?" He grinned, letting me know that he was joking, and that he loved me and was glad I was safe. As we made our way to the park's exit, I looked over to Peter, who was walking just a few feet to my left._

"_I'm sorry I broke your kite," I managed._

"_That's okay, Eddy," he replied after a moment, slipping his arm around my shoulders and giving me a comforting squeeze. "We can always fix it." And with that, it was all forgotten._

O o O o O

"Try not to wander off!"

Peter has made good use of that line, over the past few years. He has always meant it as a gentle jibe, a joke reserved for when I have done something especially daft. As he says it now, and he smiles that warm, loving smile, I find myself more than a little confused. Has he truly forgiven me? Or is it for show, for my sister's benefit, or even for his own? I decide that I am too tired to tell, and too paranoid as a result of that fatigue. I smile, a little shyly, I suppose, and say nothing. Turning once more, I head toward the tent and the comforting darkness within.

O o O o O

I wake suddenly, and find myself surrounded by the close warmth of a well appointed tent, instead of the cold of an icy prison cell. There's no sting of ice against my skin, and no bite of rime-coated steel encasing my ankles and wrists. In truth, it takes me by surprise, and I panic for a moment, not knowing where I am. After a few moments, the memories of the past day return, and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. It's quite dark in the tent, the thick layers of cloth and furs that make up its walls easily blocking the sunlight from outside, save for a thin sliver that betrays the entrance. I can feel myself beginning to doze off again, comfortable in the bed I had found earlier, until something catches my eye, a movement in the darkness.

I catch another movement near the entrance flap, and I quickly realise that I'm not alone. My eyes strain against the gloom, and the shape of the intruder slowly comes into focus. I'm more that a little surprised to find that it is Peter. I think about talking to him, saying something, anything, but nothing comes to mind. I watch him move to leave the tent, and just as I give up on the hope of speaking to him, he turns to face me.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Peter says, his voice heavy. "I brought you some clean clothes. They're on the stool."

"Thanks," I reply quietly, not wanting to invite any of the anger he's obviously feeling. I sit up, gaining my bearings, and make out the pile of fresh garments nearby. Deciding to change as soon as Peter is gone, I reach forward to take the clothing. Peter, who has turned and started to leave again, turns around to face me again when I wince in discomfort, a sharp hiss of pain escaping my lips before I can stop it. My old clothes have caught on one of the various wounds I have gathered on my back over the past few days. He watches me for a second, then asks,

"Are you okay?" There is genuine concern in his voice, a fact that heartens me a little. I whisper a reply, tell him I'm fine and that he shouldn't worry. Peter, not believing me for a second, moves back into the tent and takes a seat on the bed opposite. My eyes have become used to the dark, and I can clearly make out the dour expression on his face. "There's no point lying about it, Ed," he says angrily. "I heard you loud and clear. If you're in pain, someone needs to know. Now come on, out with it."

"My back is just a bit sore," I lie again, and I can see that he doesn't believe me. I can't say I blame him, really; I sound pitiful. In an attempt to show him that I'm fine, I stand up and stretch my arms, barely managing to keep a grimace from my features. Peter just responds with a look that tells me he isn't impressed, and stands up himself.

"What on earth has she done to you, Edmund?" he asks, his voice a little harsh. "Come on, just show me. Please?" I decide, right now, that my pride doesn't matter any more. If I'm to have any chance of repairing my relationship with my brother, I have to let go of my pride and let him in. I bow my head, and slowly move to remove my jumper, gasping a little at the effort of moving my arms so much. Seeing I'm in pain, Peter helps me, his expression softening visibly as he sees just how much trouble I'm having. As I start to shed my shirt, Peter gasps softly.

I can understand why. I hadn't realised just how much weight I had lost. It's probably only a few pounds, but my ribs are showing enough to notice. Ugly, purple bruises mark my pale skin, and as Peter's expression changes from annoyance to shock, then on to pain, I feel tears well up in my eyes. I want to hide, ashamed at what has been done to me, but I swallow hard and let Peter inspect my wounds. He gently places his right hand on my shoulder, and slowly turns me around, appraising every bruise, every mark. When he finally reaches my back, he stops.

"Oh, my God," he whispers, shock colouring his voice. "What in God's name did she do to you?" I can feel him slowly trace the outlines of the welts that I know are criss-crossing my back with his fingertips, and I quietly begin to sob with a mixture of shame and pain. "Are... are these... whip marks?" he asks. I can hear anger beginning to creep into his voice, and I nod slowly, unable to speak for the tears coursing down my face. Gently, Peter turns me round to face him. I look up at him, and see tears of his own forming.

"I'm so sorry, Ed," he manages, close to breaking down. He takes my face in his hands, smoothing my hair back with his fingers, a wild mixture of emotion evident on his face, in his eyes. He softly wipes at my tears with his thumbs, as he continues to speak. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't been so hard on you, or if I'd paid you more attention..."

"I most likely would have done the same thing!" I say loudly, unable to take it any longer, shocking both of us with my sudden outburst. My sorrow has been replaced with a sudden well of anger, and I can feel myself shaking as it takes over. I'm angry at myself, furious that I have done this to my brother. And I can't let him blame himself any more, not for my wrongdoing, not for my mistakes and actions.

"But... why?" Peter manages to ask.

"Because I could never be the brother you wanted," I say, finally letting go of everything I've been telling myself over the last few days, letting it all out into the open. "I was so jealous of you, Peter. You were always the one I looked up to, always the perfect brother, the perfect son. And I hated myself, because I could never come close. I was a total failure, Peter. And because of that, I began to lash out at everything nearby... I just wanted to push you all away. Because it was easier to tell myself I hated you, to hurt you enough to make you go away, than it was to make myself better. To make myself worthy of... of you."

"Edmund, stop. Please?"

I hear Peter, but I can't stop myself. Just as it did not more that a couple of hours ago, everything comes rushing out. Every moment that has defined me for the last three years floods out, a continuous stream of pain, of jealousy, anger and perceived loss. I even tell him about the first time I had been beaten up at school, of how it had damaged my faith in Peter; not because he had done anything wrong, but because I was a spoiled brat, and no other good reason, so far as I could see. As my words finally finish, and become replaced by near uncontrollable sobs, I say the words that I most need to.

"I love you Peter. No matter what I told you, I didn't mean it. I know you must hate me, but I... I needed you to know..." Peter gently presses a finger up to my lips, quieting me without a word. I look up at him again, see the sheer sorrow in his eyes, and my own crying increases. My words become replaced by a whimper of _I'm so sorry_, which gets repeated, again and again, the words merging into a long string of regret. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches forward and pulls me into an embrace. He doesn't say a word, just holds me tight against his chest as I cry myself out. He keeps his arms well clear of my back, and clings onto my shoulders, one hand softly stroking my hair, soothing me as best he can. He doesn't say it out loud, but I can sense his love for me. And all of a sudden it hits me, the reason for his behaviour earlier, the source of my confusion...

He must have been _so _angry at what I had done. Peter must have been torn between that anger and this love, a need to comfort me warring against his fury at my betrayal. It's just one more thing I have done, one more hurt placed upon my brother' soul. Not wanting to break the moment, never wanting to let go, I wrap my own arms around my brother and hold him tight. After a moment that seems like an eternity, I finally hear him whisper the words I have wanted to hear for so very, very long...

"You bloody idiot."

Peter backs away slightly, and looks me straight in the eye, a sad yet genuine smile crossing his lips. When I see that he didn't mean it in a horrible way, I manage a weak smile of my own. "Why can't you ever see what's in front of you, Ed? I have _never_ hated you, not once. I might have hated what you've done, but I never stopped loving you. I love you, Eddy, don't ever forget that. You're my little brother, and you mean more to me, to all of us, than you will ever know. But I see now I should have talked to you, instead of trying to beat your habits out of you. If I'd just tried a bit harder..."

"Now who's being the bloody idiot?" I grin, wiping the last vestiges of my tears away and giving a hearty sniff. I have to stop his train of thought, stop him from hurting himself any further. "You're not perfect, you know. You can't protect me all the time."

"I know," he says, smiling down at me with that sweet, golden smile. "But I have to try. What are big brothers for? And don't swear!"

"You started it!" I gasp in mock horror, giving him a playful poke in the ribs. He just smiles again and gently cuffs my shoulder. I can't help but laugh then, for the first time in forever, and Peter joins me. It just feels so good to have my family back, to have my brother once more, that I don't ever want this feeling to end. Somehow, we end up in another embrace; not one of comfort, or of tears, but of pure, unrestrained love. I know I have a lot of ground to cover before I can truly make up for what I have done to my family, but as Peter drops a tender, brotherly kiss onto my forehead, I know that everything's going to be alright.

"I missed you," I hear him breathe, and I know he's not just talking about my absence of the last few days. "I missed you, little brother." In return, I simply smile to myself.

I have my family. I don't need anything else. As Peter finally offers to help me dress, then tells me that it's nearly time for lunch, I smile to myself. And on the spot, I make a silent promise that never again will I let anyone hurt my family, or harm them in any way.

Especially not me.

* * *

Author's Notes: As ever, I own nothing of the wonderful works of C. S. Lewis. I do own a copy of the books and the DVD, but that's about it.

My humblest thanks go to Electrum, both for nudging me in the right direction for this chapter, then holding my hand while I prepared to post it. I owe you one, my friend.

I hope it was to everyone's liking, even if it was yet more sadness for poor Edmund. And I'm not finished with him yet... poor kid. We still have a near-fatal stabbing and a disgruntled faun to face yet!

Please leave a review, if you can. All comments and/or criticism is very much welcome.


	5. Moments of Light

Moments of Light...

The view from up here is fantastic. Around me, the centaur and faun archers are preparing for the battle to begin, and I wonder for a moment if they appreciate the view as I do. This place, this whole country in fact, is beautiful. I've never seen the like; having grown up in London, I've never seen such magnificent scenery, not even when we got evacuated to the countryside. I wish I could go and explore it all. I wish I could share the sights with my family.

And I wish, more than anything at the moment, that I could have seen it on any day other than today...

I fidget in my armour, trying to get the chainmail hauberk to sit right. I can't quite get used to the feel of it; funnily, three days ago I couldn't have told you what a 'hauberk' was. Let alone a 'gambeson' or a 'tabard'! And yet here I am wearing them, desperately trying to look the part of someone fighting in a war, and not like a scared boy from Finchley who wished he didn't have to be here. Deep down, I know that I must. I owe it to these people, to my family and to Aslan, to fight in this battle. But I'm scared nonetheless; how could Peter look so calm when he rode out to the front?

I wish I was down there with him. When he ordered me to take charge of the archers, I will admit that a small part of me was relieved. I was terrified of leading the charge, even with Peter there to protect me. But knowing he's down there, looking every part the King I know he is, ready to lead the attack, knowing that he might just die and I won't be able to do anything about it... It makes me feel sick to my stomach. Too many people have been killed because of me already, and I don't want the next to be my own brother. I love him far too much, and after the last few days, I have come to appreciate just how much he loves me in return; how much they all do. I don't want to lose that, not now...

O o O o O

My first day in Aslan's camp seemed to go very quickly. After my talk with Peter, the first real conversation I had had with him in years, I had felt awfully tired; drained, almost. It was as though the outpouring of all my pain, of all my jealousy and spite and anger, had left me feeling... hollow. It's the only word I have to describe it. I was still tired from my time with the Witch, but this was different. A kind of dull ache that ran all through my body, a feeling of just wanting to hide away from the world.

As it turned out, a hug was the next best thing. Lucy made sure of that. As Peter and I left the tent, me wiping my eyes clear of my recent tears, Lucy came running over to tell us that lunch had been arranged. As soon as she saw me, a look of deepest sympathy crossed her features, and she threw her arms around my middle. I found myself thinking again that, not so long ago, I would have been horrified. In all truth, I still was, a little. I guess that part of who I used to be involved not being a very tactile person; just another form of cutting myself off from the world. I held my little sister close, and shot Peter a look that I hoped said I wanted to talk to her alone for a moment. He nodded silently, and left us alone.

"I need to tell you something," I murmured after a moment, gently pulling away from my little sister. She looked up at me expectantly, concern in her eyes, and my heart broke all over again at the thought of upsetting her. I couldn't tell her about Tumnus, it would hurt her far too much; maybe later, when I could figure out how best to tell her, I would. But not then. "I'm sorry for being such a beast", I offered instead, hoping for the best.

"Oh, Edmund, don't," Lucy sighed, reaching out and rubbing my arm affectionately. "I heard what you said to Peter. I know that eaves-dropping is bad, but I wanted to see where you had got to, you were both so long. I don't know why you did what you did, Edmund, but I do know how sorry you are, and that you just needed to know someone cared about you. And I do." She turned, hooking her arm around my own and leading me slowly over to where Susan and Peter waited for us. I was completely shocked, speechless in fact. She'd heard it all, and her response was simple, unconditional forgiveness. I was amazed, in all truth, and my expression must have shown it.

"You _were_ horrid, Ed," she continued, grinning up at me, her eyes twinkling briefly, "but I always knew that you didn't really hate us. It was just a case of us getting through that we didn't hate _you_, it seems." She looked up a me again, stopping in her tracks and looking thoughtful. "You can always talk to me, you know, if you feel that way again. You're my brother, after all. I might not get it all, but... I love you, and that's what matters. Right?"

"Absolutely," I said, smiling as warmly as I could muster, and slipped my arm away from hers and put it around her shoulders. We walked like that, Lucy smiling in that totally heartfelt way she does, and me smiling on the inside, until we reached Peter and Susan. Susan got up and greeted me with another hug, while Peter just smiled and nodded, apparently happy with what I had done. I knew I still had to apologise to Su, but I was willing to wait for a short while and talk to her after lunch.

Lunch was a fairly quiet affair. Lucy chatted happily about her morning activities, playing with some of the dryads and talking to the fauns. I just sat and smiled, enjoying the feeling of having my family around me. Susan shared some of her morning as well, and I could hear the excitement in her voice as she described a conversation with a Talking Gorilla. Throughout it all, Peter stayed silent, and I assumed that he was just enjoying hearing the girls talk as much as I was. At least, until I noticed the sad glances he occasionally shot my way. Part of the expression he wore was difficult to read, almost as though he was afraid I would just fade into thin air, or disperse like smoke.

The rest of it was all too easy to read. I could see the hurt in his eyes, though he hid it well, and it slowly dawned on me that whilst he had forgiven me, and was overjoyed to have me back, it was going to take a while to regain his trust, and for the pain of my actions to fade. I accepted that without question; my family could take as long as they needed, and I would do all I could to redeem myself in their eyes. It hurt, a little, but by that point I didn't much care. To be whole again was worth any price.

Eventually, Peter made his excuses and left, stating that he was going to find the army's general; apparently he had begun tutoring Peter in the use of a sword. My brother must have caught something in my expression, because he relaxed slightly, and explained that he felt it would be better for me to rest than to join him. I nodded quietly, and watched him leave, feeling a lump forming in my chest as it began to hit home just how much work I was going to have to do. Minutes later, Lucy got up to leave herself, leaving me alone with my older sister. For long moments, we sat quietly, Susan watching me thoughtfully, while I figured out what I was going to say to her.

"He's just worried about you, you know," Susan said after a moment, before taking another bite of her bread and jam. She swallowed before continuing "We all are. What happened, Edmund?"

I had planned on saying that I was sorry, that I hadn't meant to hurt her or the others, the same litany I had repeated for days now, both openly and privately, and would probably be repeating for years to come. Instead, Susan's gentle question pulled me up short, and I floundered for a moment, unsure of how to answer.

"I'm not sure I know, any more," I finally answered. I looked at her, and wasn't surprised to see a look of disappointment on her face. All three of my siblings had reacted to my actions in different ways, over the years; Lucy got hurt and cried, Peter got angry, occasionally to the point of hitting me. But Susan... she always had a way of looking at me, a look that said she wished I would grow up, that I would better myself. Instead of getting hurt or angry, she tried to reprove me, which used to anger me almost as much as Peter trying to be the father of our little group. This time, though, I could understand why she looked at me that way; after all, I was more than a little ashamed of myself. Which is why I was so surprised at what came next.

"We really messed up, didn't we?" she said, sidling over to me and slipping her left arm around my shoulders. "_I_ really messed up. It all started at that awful school, didn't it? You were always such a sensitive boy when you were younger... when the bullies got to you, I should have done something to help, or told Peter to pay more attention. Instead of trying to help, I just threw what you were doing back at you, and nagged you to be better. I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong," I managed, after a few moments. Her words had stunned me to say the least. I could understand Peter wanting to blame himself for my wrongdoing; he was, well, _Peter_. Always taking on the weight of the world. But Susan? Again, I wasn't about to let someone else take the blame for me. "It was all me," I said, perhaps a bit harshly. "My fault, Susan, not yours. I was an absolute monster, Su. I did so much damage to our family..."

"And if we had helped, maybe you wouldn't have gone down that path," she said, cutting me off. With her right hand, she reached up and slowly turned my chin so that I faced her. "I'm not condoning what you did, Ed. You did a lot of things wrong, and you hurt all of us, at one point or another. It's going to take time to undo that. But we weren't blameless in all this, Edmund. I'm apologising for my part in this, just like you did, and I needed you to know."

"But... but I hadn't apologised to you yet," I managed to stutter, my voice thick with emotion. "I'd talked to Peter and Lu, but I hadn't had a chance to..."

"Yes, yes you did," Su said, cutting me off mid-sentence again. "When you came down that hill with Aslan, your apology was written all over your face, in your eyes. I could see that the Witch had hurt you, that you had realised what you had done and felt sorry for it, and I remember feeling that I loved you so much, and was sorry for you. You really wouldn't have needed to say any more than you did with that look. And after all, Aslan said that we didn't need to talk about this."

"But, _I _did," I whispered, biting back the tears that threatened to fall for the third time that day. "I needed to tell you... how sorry I am. I needed to say it out loud. I had to start somewhere."

"I know," she said, smiling warmly. "Like I said, you were always sensitive, for a boy. You know, I really missed you Edmund. Today seems like the first time I've seen you in years; the real you, that is. I hope the other you is gone for good. I love you too much to lose you to him again." At these last words, I was completely undone. I shut my eyes against the inevitable tears, but they came anyway, silently flowing and leaving hot trails down my cheeks. Susan leaned forward, and lay a single, tender kiss on my temple, before drawing me into her arms. I leaned against her, resting my head against her shoulder, and wept silently.

The first time, weeping before Aslan that morning, it had been a way of letting go of my guilt, of owning up to all I had done. It had been a moment of pure release, and it had opened the way for my healing, for my redemption. When I had cried with Peter, I had been letting go of my pain, the feelings of worthlessness, of inadequacy, that had started it all. A way of tearing down the walls between my brother and I, and a way of telling him just how sorry I was for what we had lost. I had been totally honest with him for the first time in years, letting him in, letting him see the real me.

But sitting there, quietly sobbing into Susan's shoulder, bitter-sweet, salty tears slowly soaking into the fabric of her dress, it was for pure, unrestrained sorrow. Sadness for all I had done to my family, for all my wrongs... Sadness for what had been done to me, for the pain I had endured, for the abuses the Witch and her dwarf had heaped upon me, some of which I had no name for... Sadness for a boy I barely remembered, a boy who had been dead for so long I was no longer sure if he existed, deep within me; the Edmund that was, the Edmund that had been. A carefree, smart, fun-loving and caring little boy, whose coffin I had put the last nail into the day my father left...

I wept for myself, selfish as that sounds. Because, in all truth, I missed that part of myself.

I missed my family, I missed being able to make them happy as much as they made me happy, and I wept for that, too. And, somewhere amongst all the pain and loss and tears, I realised something. He wasn't dead at all, just lost. The old me was still there, beneath the surface. And with some work, and with the help of my brother and sisters, I knew then that there was hope for the old Edmund yet. And so it was that I finally spoke, whispering to both my sister, and to the part of myself I thought had been lost long ago.

"I missed you too..."

* * *

Author's Notes: As ever, it is with great regret that I admit no ownership of this world, nor of it's wonderful denizens. Pity.

Once more, my humble thanks to Elecktrum, without whose prompting and inspiration this chapter would have been quite different and less than whole. I bow to your brilliance, dear lady! I would also like to thank all of you who reviewed so far; your support means a lot, and I'm extremely glad that so many of you have enjoyed this story. A quick note to Paulabookworm; you might just get your wish, so far as a chat with Oreius is concerned, next chapter. As for the Fox, well, we'll see... :)

This is really part one of two, so far as the chapters for Regrets go, so look out for "...Shades of Grey", coming soon. Thanks to all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Bye for now!


	6. Shades of Grey

...Shades of Grey

By the end of my first day at Aslan's camp, it was becoming painfully obvious that my path to redemption was destined to be a rocky one. Any time I passed one of my siblings, I was greeted by sad glances hidden behind warm smiles. Peter was perhaps the hardest one to deal with; I knew, deep down, that it would take him the longest to come to terms with me, and what I had done. After the third time of practically running into him around the increasingly small encampment, I was just about ready to scream. I watched as his first response, an obvious expression of relief and affection, was quickly replaced by an awkward stiffness in his character, a sudden formality, that left me feeling like a complete stranger in some ways.

Susan was warmer with me, but I could still see the pain in her eyes, and I couldn't shake the idea that she blamed herself, in part, for my betrayal. That was something I wasn't willing to accept, but for the sake of peace I kept quiet. Of the three of them, Lucy was the easiest to deal with. Even if her response to seeing was almost always a hug... it seemed to my slightly paranoid mind that it was as much to comfort herself, let her know that I really was there, as it was to comfort me. But every time she did, it just brought the guilt of my actions, and the guilt of Mr. Tumnus, flooding back. Looking into those ever-cheerful eyes, though, I quickly forgot my worries, if only for a few moments.

The hardest thing to deal with, though, was the rest of the camp. Everywhere I went, suspicious stares followed my every footstep. After a couple of hours, the atmosphere was beginning to press in on me from all sides, and I just wanted to run and hide. _Traitor_, they said. _Witch's Servant_. Groups of dwarfs, Talking Animals and other creatures would stop talking as I passed, hostile glares following me until they thought I was out of earshot, then followed by fervent, sharp whispers. There was no sign of Aslan, and I was deeply sorry for that fact. Of all the Narnians, I felt that he might just understand what I was going through.

Just before supper was due to be served, the dark cloud that had been following me around broke out into outright conflict, with the person I had least expected it to come from. Mr. Beaver had avoided me all day, deliberately walking away from me whenever we caught sight of each other. As evening began to draw in, however, he came to find me. From what little I could read of his expression, he was not at all happy about the matter, and would clearly have rather been in any other place than near me.

"Son of Adam," he said, stopping a short distance away from me. He had taken me by surprise, as I hadn't seen him approach, and I jumped slightly as his rough accent snapped me from my thoughts. "King Peter asked me to find you. Your supper is being served shortly." He hesitated for a moment, something clearly on his mind.

"I hope you realise what you nearly cost us," he snapped after a pregnant pause, his voice sharp to the point of nearly being a hiss. "Because of you, yer selfish little blighter, the Prophecy was nearly stopped. We could have lost the war. We might have lost Aslan's favour. Narnia could well have been destroyed, might still be destroyed, all because of some... some..."

"Some _what_?" I countered, heat rising to my cheeks and anger building in my chest. "Go on, say it. Traitor."

"Yes, traitor," Beaver finished. "How could you do it to us, eh? You didn't even give us a chance! You just ran straight to _her_, with open arms, straight into her tender comforts! How could you? And you dare to show your face here, and walk around the place like an honoured guest... Why Aslan didn't just destroy yer on the spot, I don't know."

"I wonder the same thing myself," I snapped back, fists clenched at my sides. "But I guess that's for him to know, and for us to wonder. He certainly hasn't told me."

Beaver looked ready to launch into another tirade on what he thought of me, but instead he just stopped. He glared at me, poison in his eyes. And then it dawned on me that he wasn't just looking at me; he was looking past me. I turned, following his gaze, and came face to face with my brother. Peter stood not five feet behind me, an incredulous look on his face, a look I knew all too well. I had seen it often enough; it was a look he used when he couldn't believe what I had just done, and was about to start shouting about it.

"Mind if I ask what's going on?" he asked, his voice neutral, but with an icy undercurrent. For once, his sharp stare wasn't directed at me, but was instead aimed squarely at Mr. Beaver. I stepped sideways slightly, into his line of sight, and made Peter focus on me.

"It was me," I said sharply, not wanting Peter to get involved. "It was just me, being my usual self, okay? Just leave it." I don't know why I didn't want Peter to help, but I just didn't want him to face off against Beaver for my sake. I stormed past Peter, not daring to look into his eyes, and went to find my sisters.

A part of me was beginning to wish that I hadn't been rescued. As good as it was to be amongst my family again, it was all too clear that no-one else wanted me around. Dinner was a grim affair, with no-one talking; the girls could no doubt sense how hurt I was feeling, but didn't know how to approach it, as such. Peter just sat staring at me, pain and worry etched on his face as he chewed his way through his food. I couldn't meet any of their eyes. It hurt too much, and I could feel myself slipping further and further into apathy.

I finished eating, and made to stand. Lucy tried reaching out, placing her hand on mine. It would have been a comforting gesture, a reminder that no matter what anyone else thought of me, she at least loved me, as did the others. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't open myself up again, not even for her. I was too tired, too spent, and in too much pain. And so I walked. I left the sad eyes of my family behind, even ignoring Peter as he said my name, and headed for our tent.

O o O o O

I cried myself to sleep that night. I just lay on my bed, silent tears soaking into my pillow, until my eyes were sore and my throat hurt from the quiet, whispered sobs. I was vaguely aware of Peter entering our tent, but when he didn't say anything I feigned sleep, not wanting to speak to him. Eventually, sleep came, but it brought neither rest nor comfort. For most of the night, I was plagued by nightmares; dreams of _Her_, the things she did to me, merged with the faces of everyone who I had caught whispering about me. It all swirled and merged together, and it seemed mere minutes later that I awoke, sweat pouring from me, and Beaver's words ringing in my ears.

_Traitor. _That's precisely what I was. The word ran through my mind, taunting me, as I sat gasping for breath, still haunted by the dreams. I wanted to cry out, to scream, to hit something, but at the same time found I couldn't move. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, and my heart was hammering in my chest, fit to explode. I thought for a moment that I might pass out, and I gulped down air in an effort to calm myself. It didn't work. I hadn't had a panic attack since I was a small child, and a small part of my mind was horrified as it realised that I was having another one, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

As the tent began to swim in my vision, I was suddenly aware of strong arms wrapping around my shoulders, and the sensation of being embraced. As Peter pulled me against his chest, began stroking my hair and whispering soothing words into my ear, I slowly began to calm down. Panicked tears coursed down my cheeks as my breathing began to slow, returning to normal. Above me, Peter continued whispering his litany of comfort, until the tears stopped altogether.

_It's okay... hush, little brother... she can't hurt you here... you're safe..._

Gathering myself, I pulled myself away from my brother a small distance and looked up at him. His expression was clear; I had worried him, and from the rings under his eyes he hadn't slept very much at all, no doubt listening to me fret in my sleep. Those piercing blue eyes held mine, and the question they held was plain enough.

"I'm fine," I said, my trembling voice betraying the lie in my words. "It was just a bad dream." I pulled back completely, turning slightly away from Peter. I prayed he would take the hint and just leave me alone. On hindsight, I'm glad that Peter can be a little dense when it comes to things like that.

"I heard what Beaver said to you," he whispered, his voice thick. "He had no right, Ed. No right at all, and I told him so. Has anyone else said anything? If they have, they'll have me to deal with!" I shook my head in response, not wanting to cause any more trouble.

"Ed, come on," my brother said, a little louder but no less soft. His right hand moved up to the back of my head, and he began working his fingers through my hair, reminding me of our father. "You can trust me, okay?" I continued to look away, not wanting to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry I was a bit of a prig with you yesterday," Peter continued regardless. "It's not easy, you know? I guess I'm just trying to get used to having the 'old you' back. It's just felt... strange; I guess old habits die hard. But you can talk to me, I hope you know that. Please don't shut me out again." Peter heaved a sigh, and I looked back at him.

"I'm sorry," I said sadly, and I meant it. "I guess old habits really do die hard. I want to be better, I really do, but I'm such a failure, Peter..."

"Don't ever say that," Peter countered, his face hardening. "You made a mistake, I'll give you that. But you aren't a failure, Edmund. Aslan forgave you. The girls forgave you. And so have I, believe it or not. If Oreius and the others had had to kidnap you, rather than rescue you, it might be a bit different. But I heard you last night. You fought the Witch as best you could, from what I could make out, despite how much she obviously hurt you. The only failure was mine, Ed. You're too young to have gone through what you did. I should have found a way to protect you."

"Peter, don't start that again. It's not your fault, it was mine. Look, can we... start over? I know it sounds stupid, but I just want to put it all behind me. I want to get to know you again. I want to get to know me."

"A fresh start?" He looked thoughtful, then gave me a sly grin. "Very well. But on one condition. If anyone else gives you any trouble, tell me, okay?"

O o O o O

Peter was good to his word; he was more open with me, and while he couldn't hide his pain entirely, he put a brave face on. At breakfast, I talked with the girls, and apologised for my actions of the night before. Lucy was Lucy, cheerfully telling me to forget it and that she understood; I felt then that I truly didn't deserve her. And from the look on Susan's face as she accepted my apology, Peter had told her about my confrontation with Mr. Beaver, and she understood completely. I was relieved, truth told, and when I explained that I wanted a fresh start, they all heartily agreed. As we finished breakfast, Peter mentioned that he was going for more training with the army's general. Catching my sad look, he grinned widely and said,

"Don't look so put out, Ed. The general asked me if you would come along too."

I had, of course, agreed on the spot. The idea that not everyone in the camp hated me entirely was quite comforting, and I was both excited and nervous at the idea of using a real sword. Peter led me out to a neighbouring field, where several centaurs and fauns were sparring. As we passed, most of them stopped and saluted Peter; their response to me was markedly less polite. In response, Peter just smiled and slipped his arm around my shoulder, squeezing it gently.

After a short while, Peter pointed out the armoured form of the general, a large centaur sparring with another of his kind. The general spotted us, and immediately called a halt to his own training and trotted over to us. As he did so, he removed his helmet, and a moment later I recognised him as the centaur that had saved me from the Witch's camp. Oreius gave a stiff bow, bending at the waist, and smiled at both myself and my brother.

He explained that, for a change, Peter would be training with one of the fauns, and learning some more advanced sword techniques for fighting on foot. When General Oreius then announced that he would be overseeing my first sword training personally, I suddenly felt very nervous. Peter reassured me that it would be alright, and then left to one of the armourer's tents to get ready. I watched him go, then turned back to face the general. He looked at me, his expression kind but a little sad, I thought.

"I wondered if we might talk first, my King," he said. "Walk with me, if you will. I would like to get to know you better." We walked into a clearer part of the field, Oreius keeping his pace slow so that I could keep up. I was so nervous that I could barely think straight. As it turned out, I needn't have been.

"Why did you go to her, your Majesty?" The question was a simple one, but I didn't want to talk about my more personal reasons with someone who wasn't a part of my family, save perhaps Aslan. When I didn't answer straight away, Oreius stopped and turned to face me. "You do not need to tell me of your problems with your family," he explained. "But I wonder... could you not tell she was evil?"

"She was kind to me at first," I said, swallowing thickly and talking slowly, wanting to find the right words. "She offered me warm words when I felt my family didn't want me. She told me I could be a prince, and fed me sweets. I didn't know anything of Aslan, and I was just too blinded by my greed. When we got back to Narnia, all I could think of was going to her. I wish so much that I hadn't." I looked up into the great centaur's eyes, and saw a look of compassion and pity.

"Evil sometimes wears a pleasant face," he said, his voice almost sad. "Many of far greater years than yourself have learned that, at a far greater price. I must apologise, Majesty, for judging you perhaps too harshly. When first I heard of your betrayal, I took it as it appeared. I should have _learned _you before I _judged_ you."

"I think a lot of Narnians see me the same as you did," I said, as we continued walking toward a tent in the distance. I could see a group of dwarfs working outside, and knew somehow that this tent would be some kind of armoury. "There's been a lot of talking."

"I would have thought the silences were harder to bear," Oreius replied, a note of what I took to be humour colouring his voice. "I have seen the way the camp has been treating you, Majesty. They will come around, given time."

"I don't think they will," I sighed. "And they have every right not to. I did betray them, after all, whether I meant to or not. It's a price I'll have to pay." The general stopped as we reached the tent, and regarded me with a strange expression in his eyes. I thought he would say something more, but instead he simply ushered me toward the tent, and called out to one of the armourers. A gruff looking dwarf, whose name I later learned was Briarthorn, took me inside, and the business of getting me outfitted began.

O o O o O

Two hours later, as the sun began its final climb to midday, I found myself standing on a lush green hillside, learning the art of the sword. Wisely, Oreius had started me off with a wooden training sword, and had begun teaching me the basic movements involved. I would like to think that I was a fast learner, but in all truth I suspected that I was in fact more than a little clumsy, if the general's expression was anything to go by. But learn I did, and by the time lunch was served I had picked up a few of the basic patterns, blocks and attacks and the like.

As the afternoon progressed, my training continued, until I had learned enough to start with a proper sword. The change in weight caught me by surprise at first, but I adapted, and before long the slow, steady cadence of my movements had begun to speed up. As evening began to approach, Oreius suggested we try an actual sparring session, moving slowly so that I could learn with minimal risk to either of us. Happily, I agreed.

A short way into the match, I noticed that a small crowd was beginning to form, watching us from a distance. I tried to ignore them, ignore the stares and the whispered mutterings I fancied I could hear from the assembled creatures. As the bout continued, I became more and more distracted, more and more fearful of the collective gaze of the other soldiers. Eventually, when the weight of it all became almost unbearable, I made a mistake.

Had we been sparring properly, I could well have been seriously injured, maybe even killed. I lost my concentration, and didn't parry at the right moment, or at the right angle. Before I had even realised what had happened, the point of the general's broadsword was resting gently against my right collar-bone. The weapon was quickly removed and sheathed, and the general removed his helm to look at me face to face. Embarrassed and ashamed, I looked away.

"Pay them no heed, Majesty," he said, gently turning my face toward him with one large, calloused hand. He graced me with a smile, then looked up at the gathered soldiers. Under his withering gaze, they quickly went back to what they had been doing. Looking down at me, seeing how upset I was with the whole situation, the general seemed to come to a decision.

"How many summers are you, my King," he asked me, his voice soft.

"Ten, nearly eleven," I answered, unsure of where he was going with his question.

"Ten summers?" he repeated, a slight hint of shock entering his tone. "So young... astounding."

"What is?" I asked, a little confused.

"That you have endured so much in such a small time, Majesty. You have endured the Witch's enchantments, and her tortures, and you have come out almost whole. Many of far greater years and maturity have endured as much, and have been undone by it. And some turned to her side under far less duress. And yet, here you stand, concerned above all else that you are not worthy of being here, or worthy of our fealty. This more than anything else, has impressed me."

What came next shocked me, and it is something that I will be eternally grateful to Oreius for. If you have ever seen a horse kneel, you will know just how awkward the whole affair is, not to mention how much more difficult the whole process of standing back up is. But that is precisely what the general did; he knelt.

"King Edmund, chosen of Aslan," he said, his voice deep and grave, "I pledge myself to you. My sword, my shield, my very life are yours, in His name and the name of his great Father, the Emperor-Over-The-Sea. I will serve you, as I will serve your royal brother and sisters, until the very end, if that is what is required of me."

"Thank you." I'm not sure if I was meant to say anything at that point, but it seemed appropriate. I was completely taken aback, and for a moment I was so moved that I felt in danger of crying. Instead, I blushed awfully, and squirmed a little. Oreius spread his arms and bowed even further, apparently pleased with my response. And it was then that I saw that we were being watched again.

The crowd had reformed, to a lesser degree, but those that were there were no longer glaring in undisguised contempt. There were gazes of understanding, embarrassment, and a dozen more emotions there. They had heard, and had apparently come to a better understanding of my story. As Oreius stood, and my attention was drawn back to him, I wondered about how this would affect my standing with the rest of the camp.

"You have been forgiven by Aslan, and by your family," he said quietly. "The rest will follow, in time. As your people come to know you, they will eventually come to judge you on what is, not just what has been. Act well, and have faith, my King. Aslan provides."

The general and I walked into the camp together. Everywhere we went, there were whispers and stares, but they didn't seem as hostile as they had the previous day. Oreius and I talked amongst ourselves as we walked, about tactics and the art of war, and about the land of Narnia and her varied peoples. As I got to know the centaur, I came to better appreciate his advice and wisdom. He was gently spoken, and kind-hearted, and I could see why Peter spoke so highly of him.

When we finally reached my family's tents, Peter was waiting for me. Oreius stopped a few metres short, and after nodding and saluting to my brother, he turned and congratulated me on my work that day. He then saluted once more, before turning and leaving. As I watched him go, Peter moved up beside me and slid his left arm around my shoulders.

"So, how did it go?" he asked nonchalantly, with an air that said he knew precisely what had happened. I looked at him curiously, and he simply smiled sidelong at me.

"You knew what he was planning to do, didn't you?" I said, more of a statement than a question. Peter's grin widened.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," he said quietly. "After Beaver and the others yesterday, you just looked so down. So I went to see the general and asked his advice. He just said something about leading by example; I didn't find out what he had done until about three minutes before you arrived."

"Word travels fast, huh?" I said, less than impressed at my brother, but more thankful for him than I had been in years. I looked at him square on, turning to face him. "Thank you, for everything," I said. Peter smiled warmly, patting me on the shoulder.

"You're welcome, little brother," he said. "Come on, supper is being served in a while, and you look like you could do with a rest and a freshen-up."

"Too right," I replied. "I never knew that sword fighting could be so exhausting!"

By the end of the first day, it had become painfully obvious that my path to redemption was destined to be a rocky one. By the end of the second day, it was becoming clear that I had started on that path, and that it would most likely be harder than even I guessed. But I also realised something else. I had my family, and I had apparently made at least one friend. Things weren't as bad as they had seemed, sitting alone in that cell, just four days and a whole lifetime ago.

With my life caught between the flashing moments of light and the infinite shades of grey that would come, I was not alone. And I had the greatest defence of all.

Love.

* * *

Author's Notes: I do not own Narnia, nor any of the characters associated with the wonderful world therein. Damn.

I decided to go with a completely different approach for the Oreius scene, which I dedicate to Paulabookworm, seeing as she requested it. It started life as something very different, with Oreius being far too aggressive. Three re-writes later... I hope you liked it! I would also like to take time out to thank Elecktrum for her help and fantastic beta-skills. Many thanks for the help, my good friend. And, of course, I can't forget my lovely reviewers, and everyone else that's been reading! Your support means so much.

Sorry this chapter was such a long one, it just needed a lot of room to breathe. The next few won't be quite so long I hope, and will come around a lot faster!


	7. The Meaning of Sacrifice

The Meaning of Sacrifice

There are so _many_ of them...

Over the last few days, as I have come to terms with the idea of fighting a battle, I have been getting more and more nervous about this moment, more and more scared. This morning, seeing Aslan's army fully arrayed around the mountain, some of that fear had begun to fade, even if only a little. We have even more soldiers than I had realised; hundreds of centaurs, satyrs, and fauns, rank after rank of Talking Animals of every shape and size, from leopards and gorillas to at least one massive rhinoceros. Waiting in reserve, we have a whole air force at our command, from small, swift kestrels, to proud eagles and majestic gryphons. But it's not going to be enough... God help us, it's not going to be enough...

I can't even guess how many of them there are. In truth, I don't even want to think about it. Part of me wants to run and hide, or to be sick on the spot. And a part of me can't move, or react, because I know that somewhere down there, _she_ is there. She has to be. I can't see her giving up the chance to cause yet more pain and suffering. She'll want to lead from the front, to personally see to it that as many of us die as possible, preferably all of us. I look at her army, and I can't help but think that we are all doomed... No, I can't. If I start down that path, I'll be of no use to anyone.

Peter's down there. My brother, my heroic brother, is down there, facing off against the Witch's forces. Yesterday morning, when I told him I believed in him, I meant every word of it. When I saw him in his armour this morning, looking nervous and proud all at once, I began to believe even more. When he turned to me, and wished me luck, I was more proud of him than I think I've ever felt. We hugged, and he told me that he loved me. He made me promise that if it all went wrong, that if it looked like we were going to lose, that I had to do my best to find the girls and get them to safety. I tried arguing that it wouldn't go that way, trying to keep him up-built; he just insisted even harder. So I promised him, and sent him on his way. But not before I told him again that I believed in him, and that I loved him too.

And I do, oh, how I do. If anyone can lead us to victory, I believe he can. Aslan believed in him, the girls believe in him. Who am I to believe any different? He's only thirteen, only three years older than I am, but he's already a leader, already a king. Everyone can see it. I can see it in every pair of eyes, on every face, the complete belief that he is their king, and that my family will lead them to victory. It shines through all of the fear. They believe in _us_; they even believe in me...

And I wish, oh, how I wish I could feel the same...

O o O o O

My second full day in Aslan's camp started in much the same way as the first. I awoke from a dreadful nightmare, soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Within seconds, Peter had me sitting up, wrapped in his arms, with me clinging onto fistfuls of my bed covers for dear life. He held me as I calmed down, rubbing my back in gentle circles as I sobbed fitfully into his tunic, whispering to me to keep breathing. He rocked me back and forth, gently stroking my hair, just as he had the morning before, and so many mornings in the past, when Mum and Dad weren't around to hear my dreams.

I just wanted so badly for it to end; I was tired of the nightmares, tired of the pain, tired of seeing _Her _eyes every time I shut my own. And this was just two full days since my rescue, about a week after entering Narnia... how much longer would it last? Peter sat back as I finally started drying my eyes, and regarded me with concern written all over his face. I knew that eventually, I would have to tell someone about what the Witch had done to me, the things that Ginnarbrik had done to me on her behalf. But I couldn't, not yet, and I prayed he wouldn't ask me.

"Feeling better?" Peter asked, moving around slightly, so that he could look me in the eyes. I offered a weak smile, and nodded slowly. Piercing blue eyes looked straight back at mine, and I could see the worry they held. He wasn't convinced, and I couldn't honestly blame him for that fact.

"I'm fine. Honest," I said quietly, my voice a little hoarse. After a while, and a very long, meaningful stare, Peter decided not to say what he obviously wanted to. There was a question there, in his eyes, and another expression that I recognised; Peter was forming a plan, or deciding on something. I had a slight feeling that I didn't want to know what it was. He sat back and tried to give me a reassuring smile, one that didn't quite touch the worry in his eyes.

"Okay," he said, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "So long as you're sure. Listen, Ed..." Peter stopped for a moment, and reached up with his left hand, brushing some of my hair out of my eyes. "I meant what I said yesterday. She can't get to you here; I won't let her. None of us will." With that, he stood, and after offering me one last smile, he left me to go and get ready for the day.

After Peter left, I thought long and hard about what he had said. She couldn't get to me here, could she? Somehow, I knew that Peter would be good to his word. He would fight for me, protect me as well as he could; after such a long time, with me acting the way I had, I felt that Peter wouldn't want to risk losing me again. He had always been protective, ever since he was little, and the memories of those days actually made me smile.

And Peter wasn't alone. I'm not sure when it happened, or even why, but at some point Aslan came into my thoughts. As I thought about the Lion, about the things he had said to me, and the feeling of warmth and belonging that I now associated with his memory, I began to feel safe. The fear of _her_ was still there, but knowing that my brother and the Lion were there for me, that they stood between Jadis and me, it seemed... less, somehow. I doubt I'll ever be able to describe the feeling properly. Feeling better in myself, I finally got out of bed, and started to get dressed.

O o O o O

Peter's plan came to light a short while later, as we all sat down for breakfast. I had found that, as I had begun to feel better about my situation that morning, my appetite had returned in full force, a fact that the girls seemed to take great delight in commenting on. As I demolished my second boiled egg, Susan made a comment about slowing down before I choked myself to death, a genuine smile showing in her voice. I simply gave her my most dashing smile as a response, and crammed another spoonful of egg into my mouth.

Lucy giggled, and Peter just smiled, raised his eyebrows slightly, and went to stretch his legs, clutching his cup thoughtfully. Susan made a good show of looking scandalised, but I could see it in her eyes; she was just thankful that I was there with them, eating my fill, and mostly healthy. Barely stopping for breath, I declared single combat on a rack of toast and a pot of lemon curd. Susan decided to give in, and resolved herself to taking a couple of the slices for herself before I finished it all on my own. Lucy summed up the scene a moment later.

"Narnia's not going to run out of toast, Ed!" she said, laughing. I smiled around my breakfast, before swallowing and taking another bite.

"You'd best pack up enough for the journey home."

As Peter spoke up, from his position leaning against one of the larger boulders that lined the valley we were camped in, I felt my heart sink a little. Not because of the thought of going home, oh no. It sank because I had an awful feeling as to what he was going to say next. If I knew Peter at all, he was about to say something dreadfully brave, and somewhat foolish. That would be just like Peter, ever the hero.

Another part of me, though, a small, selfish part, was glad that there was an opportunity to go home. I could go back to an ordinary life, and have a second chance at living it. I could be nicer to Lucy, and listen to Mother and Father and be the son I always should have been. And if I could talk Peter out of whatever was coming next, we could be friends again, _brothers_ again, like we always should have been.

"We're leaving?" Susan asked, sounding unsure. And then it came.

"You three are," said Peter, sad finality in his voice. "Mum said I had to protect you three. But that doesn't mean I can't stay and fight." And it was at about that point that the selfish side of my personal conflict lost. I knew what I had to do, now. For this country, for this people, but most importantly for my family, I had to make a stand.

"But we can't leave," Lucy said, her voice quickly filling with sadness. "They need us. _All_ of us."

"Lucy's right," I said, my voice rasping a little through my suddenly dry throat. I was so nervous, yet I had to say it. I couldn't keep it in, because of everyone here, I had the best reason of all to fight. "I've seen what the White Witch can do... and I've helped her do it. And I can't leave these people behind to suffer for it." My head dropped slightly. They would surely hate me after that confession. Everything that had been built over the last two days would be wiped out, and I would lose my family again, I knew it. I couldn't have been more wrong.

I had expected the collective gasp from my family, the sudden shock at my little revelation. What I hadn't expected was the intense feeling of love and pride that seemed to flow from them, from the encouraging smiles that washed over their faces as I finished speaking. Lucy, bless her, slipped one small hand into mine and squeezed, comforting me without words. Peter and Susan cast each other a glance that I couldn't quite read, then joined our little sister by nodding in approval.

"Well, that settles it then," Susan said after a moment, getting up and walking away from the table. She retrieved her bow and quiver, then turned and gave us a smile. "We'd best get in some practice!"

O o O o O

And practice we did. Peter and I worked together under General Oreius that morning, and into the early afternoon. We learned more sword work, as well as how to use a shield; despite what you might read in books, or even see in the theatres, fighting with a sword and shield is far more complicated than you can imagine. But learn we did, and quickly too; somehow, despite the incredibly short time we had been doing all of this, Peter and I were learning at a pace that seemed to genuinely impress our centaur and faun tutors.

Later that day, as Peter and I practised a little on our own, repeating a lesson on fighting from horseback that Oreius had just given us, the worst happened. I had privately been dreading the upcoming battle, and not just because I might have to fight, even die, battling against whichever vile beasts the Witch commanded. I was afraid that I would have to face _her _again; afraid that I would have to stare into those cold eyes as she killed me, hear her high, cruel laugh as she destroyed my family.

When Mr. Beaver told us that Jadis was coming to the camp, to speak with Aslan personally, it was all I could do to not run and hide. As we walked toward the main encampment, I wanted to jump back on Philip, the horse I had been learning to ride, and beg him to take me anywhere, anywhere away from her. I prayed, quickly and silently, that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I couldn't do it, I couldn't face her...

I wouldn't have if it hadn't been for Peter. I eventually came to a stop a short distance from Aslan's tent, frozen with fear, unable to move as my nightmares all came back to haunt me at once. Peter, who had been looking outright thunderous since hearing of Jadis' imminent arrival, turned to say something encouraging to me, and found that I wasn't there, that he had left me standing, near to tears, a few feet behind him. His expression instantly melted, and an instant later I had my head buried against his chest, eyes screwed shut to stop myself crying and shaking uncontrollably.

He kept his arms around me, not saying a word even as Lucy and Susan joined him. When Peter finally spoke, it was with a tone that I didn't recognise, a tone that scared me a little, but comforted me all the same. His voice was calm, and slow, but there was a power and conviction there that I hadn't ever heard before.

"I meant what I said this morning, little brother," he said, moving out to hold me at arm's length and look me in the eyes. "She's not going to hurt you. Not while I've got anything to say about it." Seeing the stormy anger that filled his normally shining blue eyes, I believed every word of it.

O o O o O

"_Jadis, Queen of Narnia! Empress of the Lone Islands!"_

My skin crawled at the very sound of his voice. Ginnarbrik, the dwarf who had hit me. The dwarf who had tormented me, and threatened me with his knife; who had whipped me, and beaten me at the Witch's command, while she watched me writhe and scream with that awful smile on her face; who had watched as she did things to me... horrible things... and jeered at me while I cried myself to sleep... How I hated that creature, that vile, horrid beast.

And behind him, _she _came. She looked every part the false Queen, sitting on her litter, flanked by her dreadful minions, and I could hardly bear to look at her. I could feel myself physically shrinking into myself, desperately trying to get away from her, to hide and never come out again. I watched, mesmerised, my blood running as cold as the dungeon she had kept me in, as her cyclops guard lowered her throne to the ground. She stood, an imperious expression on her face, and my world collapsed into one point.

She looked straight at me. Her lips looked as though they were ready to twist into that hateful parody of a smile, and her eyes burned with cold hatred. Peter put his hand on my shoulder, steadying me, and the girls moved closer in support, but it wasn't quite enough; I could feel her chill from where I stood. I could sense everybody in Aslan's camp as it tensed, readying for what was to come.

"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan."

I could feel her harsh words like a physical blow, as she laid my sin bare for all to see. I cringed, wishing that I could just become invisible, and hide away from her gaze and the faces of everyone around me. The atmosphere became electric as her eyes settled directly on me, accusing me, taunting me with my own mistakes. A moment later, and Aslan's voice broke through the tension.

"His offence was not against you," he said, his voice a barely contained growl. The effect was immediate: I no longer felt as terrified. I was still frightened, but somehow it was... less. At least, right up until she spoke again.

"Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?" she countered. I felt myself begin to shake a little, fighting the surge of revulsion I felt at the mere sound of her voice. I remember looking to Aslan to see his reaction, looking for any sign of hope, and was heartened to see that he did not look impressed.

"Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, witch," he growled, his voice full of authority. "I was there when it was written." The way he said it, I couldn't help but believe he had been a bit more than a spectator to those laws being crafted, and I found myself wondering at just who Aslan was. The Witch, however, was not finished.

"Then you will remember well," she argued, her voice rising to carry to all in the camp, "that every traitor belongs to me. His blood is my property!"

And there it was. My heart skipped a beat as she pointed toward me, emphasising her point. I was doomed, and there was nothing that could be done. It was law, the law that this land was built upon. Aslan's silence had confirmed as much. I felt so alone... for all of a second. There are days that my brother's over-protectiveness gets on my nerves, I will admit that. There are days when it drives me to distraction. But as he drew his sword, and stepped forward to place himself between myself and the Witch, I don't think I could have been more thankful for him, and it drove home just how much he loves me, how much he loves all of his family.

"Try and take him, then!" Peter bellowed, pointing his sword straight at her heart, daring her to come near me, his little brother. It became her turn to look less than impressed, and a moment later we found out why.

"Do you really think that mere force will deny me my right... Little King?" she spat, her voice full of contempt, her expression equally so. A moment later, her voice rose again, addressing the gathered soldiers as a whole. "Aslan knows that unless I have blood, as the law demands, all of Narnia will be overturned, and perish in fire and water!" She wheeled on me again, her eyes piercing right through me. "That boy will die, on the Stone Table... as is tradition." The absolute finality of her words struck home, making me reel. A shudder of anger and shock ran around our forces, the girls pressed closer to me, and even Peter lowered his sword, stepping back a short way, the set of his shoulders screaming defeat. There really was no way out...

I began to think back to my time in the Witch's dungeon, to the promise I had made myself. I had said that I would give anything to make up for what I had done. I had pledged that I would fight for my redemption, no matter what it took. And I had said that, if that meant that I had to die for my sins, to die for my family, then I would. And now it seemed that I would be fulfilling that promise far sooner than I had thought. My throat became dry, and my eyes started to sting... I couldn't do it, I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to die, I wanted to live; I'm only ten years old! I'm far too young. I want to live, and to love, and be loved in return. I want to experience life! I had my family back after so long that it all felt new again; I didn't want to lose that, not then and not now, not after trying so hard and making so many promises. But no-one could save me from my fate, or so it seemed. She had won, and I was as good as dead.

"Enough." Aslan's voice, deep and sad, cut through my thoughts. Every eye was drawn to his golden form, and those deep, molten eyes. He was gazing straight at the Witch, and I somehow knew that he had a plan. "I shall talk with you alone," he said to Jadis, and then turned, walking toward his tent. After a heartbeat, she followed him, and went to discuss my fate.

O o O o O

We sat there, waiting for Aslan and the Witch to emerge, for what seemed like an age. Nobody seemed ready to speak, not Susan, not Lucy, not Peter. And least of all me. I tried giving Lucy a hug, trying to comfort her and assure her that it would all be alright. I had to have faith that if anyone could save me from my fate, he could. But the words wouldn't come, and after a few brief moments, I let go of her again. Susan rubbed my shoulder, and Peter offered me a half-smile, but it didn't help. I ended up sitting, slumped forward, with my arms resting on my knees, feeling utterly dejected. I picked absent-mindedly at the grass directly in front of me, desperately trying not to think.

But inside, my mind was a whirl of thought. What if Aslan couldn't devise a plan to save me? I still didn't want to die, but unless some other option could be found, I had to give myself up. If I didn't, then this whole land would die in my stead. I remember thinking back to my Sunday School lessons, and all I had learned of Christ, and his sacrifice for Mankind... would I have to die for these people, as he died for me? And if I had to go to this Stone Table, and give up my blood for a world that was not my own, would I have the courage to go half as quietly as He did, or with half as much dignity? Was this what sacrifice felt like?

I decided, rather selfishly I'm afraid, that I would much rather not know. Not yet. Not while there was still a small hope of my surviving. I had to hold on to hope, if not for myself then for my family. I needed them, and I liked to think that they needed me, in some small way. And the same went for the people of Narnia; if there really was anything to this prophecy, then they needed us too. As I was thinking all of this, I noticed that a kind of ripple was passing through the crowd, and some of the creatures were beginning to stand. As my family and I joined them, Aslan and Jadis left the Lion's tent.

I could barely suppress a shudder as she walked past, returning to her throne. As she moved past me, she stared at me, long and hard. I could sense her absolute hatred for me, for my family, and I started to feel that same, dreadful fear of her begin to creep over me. I hoped that Aslan had found a solution, that he had found a way for me to live. I repeated that thought to myself, over and over, desperately trying not to start panicking. Then, without warning, the moment ended; Jadis turned away from me, and turned to face Aslan. My own gaze followed hers, and I bit my lip nervously as we waited for him to announce my fate.

"She has renounced her claim on the Son of Adam's blood!"

It took a few moments for his words to sink in. I almost couldn't believe it. I wasn't going to die! He had done it! Words can't describe how I felt... I don't think I've ever been as happy. What I do know is that what came next completed that feeling.

"How do I know that your promise will be kept?" she asked, her voice cold and demanding. I had about half a second to wonder what promise she meant, what kind of deal Aslan had made. Aslan's response a moment later erased that question... it also erased the last worries from my mind, just as thoroughly as it erased the self-important smile from her face. His roar echoed around the camp, and I was gifted with a sight I thought I would never get to see.

The Witch's face showed fear. She blanched, turning even paler than usual, and sat down on her throne awkwardly. After all the tension and fear, all of the endless worry about what my immediate future held, the tears, nightmares and heartache, that one sound changed everything. I felt free, light even. It was as though the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I was free of _her_.

I was free...

O o O o O

I had been so wrapped up in celebrating with my family, as well as the rest of the camp, that I paid next to no attention to anything else. On hindsight, I guess I should have seen it coming. I never asked Aslan just what it was that he had promised the White Witch. If I had thought about it, if only for a second, I might have figured it out. As it was, it just didn't occur to me. And in that last act of selfishness, in thinking only of myself and just how happy I was to not be dying on the Stone Table any time soon, I didn't find out what He was planning until it was too late.

It became all too obvious the next morning, yesterday morning. When the dryad came into our tent and gave us the message from our sisters, that Aslan was dead, Peter and I were devastated. When Peter came out of Aslan's tent an hour later, it hit home. Aslan was gone, and we had lost our greatest chance of winning the battle against the Witch. As the news spread, and a sense of defeat and, in some cases, panic followed, I wondered why Aslan had done it.

I think that Peter doesn't know that I know what Aslan did for me; he just tried to explain it away as one of those mysteries. Aslan was gone, and we would just have to deal with it. I could see it in Peter's eyes, though. He understood too well what the Lion had done, and why. His disappearance was far too much of a coincidence... she had said that if she didn't have blood, Narnia would die. I understand full well that Aslan had given himself up for his people, for his world.

But he also died for me... and I can't understand why. Now, standing here with the archers, I'm preparing myself for the possibility of doing the same thing. Without Him, we have little hope of winning. The Narnians all believe that our family, my brother, sisters and I, will be the ones that save their home from the clutches of the Witch. They believe that, even with Aslan gone, we still have hope. Seeing the sheer size of the enemy army, I'm not so sure. And I can't help but think...

It should have been me...

* * *

Author's Notes: Well, here it is at last. After all the proverbial blood and (in some cases, quite literal) tears, chapter seven has arrived. I'd like to start by apologising for the huge wait, and thanking you for your patience... it's not been an easy month, let's put it that way. On to business...

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and do not claim to. I'm just borrowing from C. S. Lewis, the true genius behind the wonder that is Narnia.

Dedications/Thanks: First up, a huge shout out to Elecktrum, for her help, sympathy, kind words and patience. Not to mention her glorious beta skills. I owe you one, good my friend.

Secondly, a 'thankyou' goes to prpleconverse17, for nagging me at precisely the right time... just think, without that little nudge, this would have been another fortnight in the offing :)

Finally, but by no means least, I'm dedicating this to my readers, and especially everyone who has been so supportive with their reviews. I know they're not the be-all and end-all, but they have been great to read, and it's always encouraging to know that this story has been so well received. That sounds a little cliched, I know, bit it's true. Thank you, all of you.

Three more chapters to go!


	8. Nor the Battle to the Strong

Nor The Battle To The Strong

I don't think I've ever been in this much pain before. I'm no stranger to pain, don't get me wrong. After the last few days, and my time with... with _her_... I can honestly say I've felt more than my fair share. But this, this is... _oh, God_... I can't even think straight...

Everything is a little blurry, like the world has been wrapped in cotton wool. Everything save for the pain, that is. I can feel my breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and feel my heart hammering in my chest. I can feel the hard ground beneath me, and feel the sticky warmth of my own blood as it soaks my tunic; through half-closed eyes, I can even see the sky. But it feels distant, faded almost. It's like watching someone else die, in a way. The only thing that feels real, that is keeping me grounded, is the sharp, stabbing pain that fills my body every few moments. Every move, every breath... even thinking hurts, and I just wish it would end.

I've managed to drag myself away from where the Witch stabbed me, hoping that she wouldn't notice and come back for me. It was a struggle every inch of the way, and I came close to blacking out more than once. I can hear the battle shifting around me, moving across the field as our forces slowly retreat; it seems far away now. Everything seems far away...

There's no escaping it. I know I'm dying. I just hope that I bought Peter enough time, and enough of a chance, to defeat Jadis... Peter. I wish I could see him. And the girls; I wonder what will become of them. He told me to get them out, to protect them... in saving my brother, have I failed my whole family one last time?

O o O o O

"_Edmund! Get the girls, and get them home!"_

Hearing my brother's call, hearing the edge of frantic fear that came through in his voice, my world came crashing down around me. I looked at him, despite the melee raging around me, and locked eyes with him. And there, I saw the last thing I wanted to see at that moment in time. We were lost, finished. It was written all over his face, in his eyes. Time slowed, almost stopping, as the realisation struck me. I had just enough awareness of my surroundings at that point to duck an attack aimed at my head, and to strike back at the ogre that had tried to kill me.

I was snapped back into reality by Mr. Beaver. We might not be on the best of terms, but he still did his best for me. He grabbed my hand roughly in his paw, and began to drag me up the hill, away from the fight... away from my brother. At the last, I turned back, and looked for Peter. I couldn't just leave without one last look; I so badly wanted him to be following me, to be escaping himself. Instead, he was still fighting. He looked like a living legend, like a knight of old, and for a brief instant I thought that it would be alright to leave him. He was handling himself far better than I ever could have. And that's when I saw _her_.

The Witch was walking toward Peter, wand in one hand and sword in the other. An expression of purest hate was plastered on her pale face; she was going to kill him, pure and simple. She hadn't been able to get to me, so she was going to make do by murdering my brother. I wasn't about to let her though... I weighed up the options, between doing as I was told and trying to save Peter. Part of me wanted to save my own skin, and saving the girls would be my chance. But, in the end, I was done with hurting my family. I wasn't about to let one of them die, especially not for me.

"Edmund, Peter said to get out of here!" Beaver called, trying to stop me as I ran forward, desperate to stop the Witch from reaching my brother.

"Peter's not King yet!" I threw back at the Animal, and before he could reply further, or I could have a chance to change my mind, I began sprinting toward her. I dodged around the warring Narnians, weaving around minotaurs and ogres and vile creatures that I didn't know the names for. I had to reach the Witch, but at the same time the question of how I was going to stop her was running through my mind. Everyone that attacked her either died on the edge of her sword, or was turned into stone by her wand. Leopards, gryphons, even General Oreius himself, had been reduced to cold, lifeless statues. What chance could I possibly have?

As I got closer to her, I could see that lethal wand glittering in the sunlight, like the ice she loved so much. And then it hit me. Her wand! That was it! As I closed the last, short distance between us, and I prepared to jump down from the rocks and challenge her, an idea struck me... it was just a wild notion, but it occurred to me that everyone that had attacked Jadis had failed, and been turned to stone. But what if someone were to attack her _wand_, instead? It was worth a try... after so many deaths at her hand, it had to be worth something.

Loosing what I hoped would be a decent battle-cry, I jumped down toward the Witch, and brought my sword downward as hard as I could. But she was fast, far too fast. Just an instant before my sword could connect with her wand, she turned to face me. Her eyes went wide with hate, her lips curled into a sickening grin, and I knew what was coming next. Jadis lunged forward with her wand, trying to run me through, to turn me to stone like so many before me. She would kill me, then my brother, and Narnia would fall under her grip for all time, the Prophecy undone...

Except I was no longer standing there. Knowing precisely what she would want to do, I acted as fast as I could. I sidestepped, and with all my strength brought my sword down on the wand's glittering, exposed length.

I couldn't have prepared for what came next. The wand shattered, and a blast of icy blue light surrounded us. It was cold all of a sudden, so very cold. My arms and legs suddenly felt like lead weights, I felt sick to my stomach and light in the head, and the world seemed to spin for a moment. I looked up, and saw to my horror that Jadis hadn't been affected, or else was dealing with it far better than I was. I could barely move as Jadis attacked me with her sword, and I felt helpless as she deftly spun my sword with hers, loosing it from my numb fingers and sending it flying into the air.

I couldn't even react properly when she stabbed me with the jagged remains of the wand. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt as much as I had thought it would. The shock of being stabbed, of feeling every last inch of it as the weapon pierced my stomach just below my ribs, stopped me from feeling too much pain. It felt awfully cold for a second, as the air was punched from my lungs, and I felt the point of the wand hit the back of my ribs. The pain hit a moment later as, with a disgusting, almost sucking sensation, I felt the wand being wrenched viciously from my body; all I could do was gasp, as a sudden rush of agony washed over me and I fell to the ground.

And, for a few brief seconds, all I could remember was the almost animal snarl on her face, and thinking how very wrong I had been to trust her...

O o O o O

I'm not alone. I can sense someone nearby, watching me. I try hard not to breathe too deeply, or move, or even to cry out (as much as I want to), in case the creature or person is one of _hers_. For a second, I almost entertain the thought that it's Peter, or one of our army, and I'll be safe. But, as the bright sunlight is briefly blocked out by that someone's shadow, and I start to make out the sounds of all-too-familiar, rasping breaths, my heart sinks. I know all too well who it is. All I can do now is pray that he thinks I'm dead, and that he will leave me alone.

Just as Ginnarbrik starts to move away, a horrible tickling sensation starts at the back of my throat. I realise with a start that I can taste copper. I remember the taste, after swallowing a penny when I was a lot smaller. Hazily, I remember that Lucy had found it quite funny, that Susan had panicked a little, and that Peter hadn't been too pleased with me at all... probably because it had been _his _pocket money that I had swallowed. I am tasting blood now, that is for certain; I must have bitten my cheek at some point. As the tickling gets too much, I cough a little before I can stop myself.

"So, our little Prince is still alive, is he?" I can practically hear the little beast sneering as he speaks, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and I curse myself for giving myself away. I hear him moving closer, stopping a short distance, just out of sight. "Did the special boy get what he deserved at last?"

"Oh, shut up!" I snap between gasping breaths, my voice little louder than a whisper, angry despite my pain. This dwarf, this _creature_, has caused me too much pain already, and I don't want to listen to more of his taunts, not now. Why did it have to be him that found me? Why now, of all times?

"Temper, temper," he says, mocking my outburst. "It will do you no good in your condition, little Prince. Perhaps you should call for help? Maybe someone will hear you."

"I'm not going to give... give you the satisfaction," is my halting response. It's getting harder to breathe, heavier almost, and harder to talk. I'm guessing that I don't have long left. "Just leave me alone."

"Perhaps I should call for someone?" the horrid dwarf continues, ignoring me. "The Queen would love to know that you are still with us. After all, your brother made for such poor sport! A pity that he died so very quickly!"

"Liar! He's not dead!" I spit out. Peter can't be dead, he just can't. This has to be another cruel trick, yet another kind of torture for his pleasure.

"I do not lie, boy," Ginnarbrik snaps back. He sounds a little closer. "The Queen made short work of him. He screamed like a whelp child, begging for mercy. He died crying and cursing your name to the Heavens! Just like your sisters will when we find them. Just like the Great Cat!"

I gulp, trying to hold back the stinging tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks. Whilst I can't quite picture Peter cursing me with his last breath, the image hurts me to my core. My mind grabs onto the dwarfs words, and images of Lucy and Susan dead, broken and bleeding, quickly follow. And Aslan... the thought of the Lion, regretting his actions for me at the last, as he was killed by the Witch...

"Liar," I say again, barely a whisper. The dreadful pain in my chest has been joined by a new one, right above my heart... what if he's telling the truth? A few tears begin to fall, coursing down my face, stinging my eyes. I've failed them all. I don't deserve to be here, when so many have died, _will_ die, for me. It would be better to be anywhere else than listen to this bile. Better to die...

"Why... why don't you just... kill me yourself?" I manage to hiss the words through my teeth, mustering as much venom as I can. He simply sneers at me, enjoying the obvious pain in my voice. I want to hurt him. After everything he has done, everything he watched _her _do to me, I want him to feel a little pain. He deserves it. I try glaring at the beast, but it does no good, so I try something else.

"Or are you too much of a coward?"

That gets his attention. The sick, twisted grin he'd been wearing up to this point disappears. I can see his knuckles whiten as he grips the haft of his axe harder, and his dark eyes narrow. His breathing quickens slightly... it's clear that I have him rattled. With each shallow, rasping breath, he edges closer to me, hate shining in his eyes.

"Coward?" he hisses. "You dare call me a coward? I wasn't the one who screamed so loudly, who whined at every touch of my whip! It was not I who could not fight off the Queen's touch!" His voice rose steadily in volume, until it became an almost hysterical screech. I fight as hard as I can to stop the tears, but still they come as he brings all of my nightmares to the surface, and the pain gets worse and worse...

"I was not the one who cried myself to sleep in the brief quiet," he carried on. "I did not sell my family for sweets and shallow promises! And I am not the one begging for death now! To end you now would be a mercy, boy. One I will gladly give!"

I move my gaze from his face, angry and twisted, to the sharp edge of his axe. My tears finally slow, then stop, as a dreadful thought occurs to me. I'm going to die for certain, sooner rather than later. My family are gone. My parents will never see us again. Attacking the dwarf further suddenly seems pointless... how can I possibly hurt someone who's already broken? Tears are pointless... what else is there to cry about? I've lost everything...

"Any last words, little Prince?" The dwarf jeers one last time. He's so close I can smell him, leather and sweat mixing with the smells of the field.

No, I haven't quite lost everything. I still have one thing left. One last choice to make. How will I go? Do I go crying and begging, in the vain hope that I might live? Or do I make one last stand, and show that I have changed, that I am not the boy I was, that my family can finally be proud of me? I think of my father, giving himself for his country and his family. I think of Aslan, giving himself for his home.

And then I think of Peter. A vague memory comes to mind, of my brother leading our forces into the charge, sword held high... I know it wasn't that long ago, but it's so hard to think. I remember hearing, faint in the distance, his battle-cry. And suddenly, it all fits. I know how to answer. I open my mouth, swallowing hard to clear the taste of blood, ignoring the cracking of my lips and the sharp stab in my chest as I draw breath to speak. I tilt my head back as far as I can, to get a clearer look at Ginnarbrik's face, to see his reaction. And, as I say my last words, watching as his eyes grow wide with anger, and the world starts to go dark, I smile just a little.

"For Narnia... and for Aslan..."

O o O o O

Is this what death feels like? I remember my last words to the dwarf. I remember hearing a dull thud and a strangled cry... my own, I assume. And then... nothing. Everything is dark, and feels distant. I'm not sure quite what I expected, but this is a little, well, _disappointing_. I guess, after Sunday School, that I expected some kind of bright light. I guess a choir would have been a bit much to ask. But darkness, alone? I cough, and feel a sharp pain below my ribs, but it quickly fades again. Is that normal? More, how long have I been here? Minutes, days? I don't know, and strangely can't bring myself to care...

O o O o O

For a moment, I don't know where I am. Just for a second, I think I'm at home in bed, just coming out of a dream. And then I remember. I'm dead, dead on a battlefield far enough away from home to be a dream. But, if that's true, why can I hear voices? They're dull and distant, like a memory that you can't quite recall... one of them is crying, I think. Is that Lucy? I wish it was... not that I wish her to be crying. I just wish it was her, here with me. I don't want to be alone.

But, if she's here, and Susan and Peter too, from the sound of it, then that means... NO! It can't be! They have to have survived, they have to! Please, let them not be dead... I wish I could move, or call out to them, but it's like crawling through molasses, nothing wants to work...

Wait, what's... what's that? That taste... it's like... I can't even begin to describe it. Hot, and sweet, and cool, fragrant and so full of life. Life! I can feel the liquid in my mouth, and as I swallow I can literally feel it begin to fill my body. Tingling warmth is spreading through my arms and legs, the pain is fading... it's gone. Everything just seems to have stopped; the bleeding, the pain, the fear... it's all gone.

I realise with a start that I have stopped breathing. I start again, and cough slightly. Slowly, not quite trusting this new feeling, I open my eyes... and see three more pairs looking into my own. My family are here, all of them, and even though every set of eyes is wet with tears, it's possibly the most wonderful sight I have ever seen. I look up, and see that my head is resting in Susan's lap, her hands stroking my hair gently. Lucy is off to my right, smiling widely, clutching a small bottle of red liquid. And Peter... Oh, Peter. I haven't seen him cry like this in an age. I feel a sudden burst of regret that I have done this to him. I want to reach out to him, to all of them, and reassure them all that I'm alright.

Peter beats me to it. Before I can react, or even sit up properly, Peter throws his arms around me and pulls me into a crushing hug. My ribs are still sore, and the stab wound still aches awfully, but I can't bring myself to complain. As my sisters join in, I allow myself to forget the pain for a moment. I forget everything. I don't want this to end, not now, not ever. No more memories, no more pain, just this... my family, safe and sound, and happy to be so. Eventually, Peter pulls back from me, and stares straight at me, straight at my eyes. Somehow, I know what he's going to ask.

"When are you going to learn to do as you're told?" he says, spluttering with a mixture of tears and laughter. I feel his hands holding the back of my head, and see the mixture of fading panic and elation written on his face, and the answer is all too clear. I meet his gaze, and smile more warmly than I have in forever. If it means that my family will be safe, if it means I can protect them, or help them in any way, then the answer is easy.

Never...

* * *

Author's Notes: Usual disclaimer, really. I own nothing of this wonderful world, nor its inhabitants. But it sure does make a great place to play!

My thanks go to Elecktrum, for triggering the line of thought that became this chapter, and to both her and FaithfulPureLight for their friendship and support. I also want to thank all for reading this fic, and giving it so much support. Sappy, but true.

Finally, a couple of notes have been raised that I feel I need to address... first up, Edmund's use of vocabulary. Yes, it's a bit verbose. Mainly, it's because I'm a bit too in love with the English language for my own good. If that annoys you, my apologies. However, it's not so far out as you might think. Middle-class English grammar schools, like the one Ed would have attended, drove home a much wider vocabulary in the forties than they do today (more's the pity). Also, I'm half tempted to claim _deus ex machina_... after all, if Narnia can turn a thirteen year old kid from Finchley into Alexander the Great in a week, it can make Ed a deeper thinker... well, it's a thought.

Lastly, a well-meaning reviewer pointed out that certain descriptions by Ed of his brother are somewhat, erm, 'incestuously fond'. Rest assured, this is not, nor will it ever be, slash/incest/yaoi or anything of the kind. It does contain references to torture, child abuse, and other dark themes. But there are certain lines I will NOT cross.

Any phrasing in here that can be taken that way was put there purely for poetic/descriptive purposes. The semi-infamous 'golden smile', for instance, was meant as a subtle counter-point to the cold evil of Jadis... after his time with her, and finally being treated like a human being by his brother, it's well within the bounds of reason that his older brother would look just shy of angelic at that point in time.

If any readers choose to see slash or incest in my stories, then that's up to you. Free world, and all that jazz. But I can assure you, if you're seeing it, then you're squinting far harder than is healthy.

Thanks for reading!

MyBlueOblivion


	9. Aftermath

Aftermath

I don't think I've ever felt so warm in my entire life. It's hard to describe, really; I've never felt anything like it. It isn't just a feeling of _being_ warm; I mean, I know what that feels like. I've felt summer days, and sat in front of the fire with a cup of Mother's hot chocolate on a winter's day. I remember days on the beach, those rare times when my family went on holiday, when the day got so hot that the sand started to burn my feet, and I had no choice but to paddle in the sea to cool off... but that wasn't anything like this. Well, that isn't totally true.

I feel warm in the usual way; as I lay here in my hammock, wrapped in as many blankets as I could get my hands on, I'm certainly not feeling the chill of the night air, if you follow. But at the same time, I feel a different kind of warmth... a warmth that sits just around my heart. That probably sounds stupid, I know. But I can't honestly describe it any better than that. After today, and everything that has happened, I just... in a way, it feels like nothing is real. Everything seems so distant, like it's all part of some happy dream. Maybe it's partly because I'm so tired I can barely move, partly because I fought in my first battle this morning and I can't believe that we won, let alone that I'm alive... It's all just so much to take in.

On the other side of the tent, I can hear Peter breathing; in a short while, when he's finally in a deep enough sleep, I know that he'll start to snore. The thought makes me smile to myself, and even though it used to drive me mad back home in England, now it doesn't matter. He's alive and safe too, and knowing that he's there is well worth putting up with the noise. If I close my eyes, I can almost picture Susan and Lucy sleeping just a few feet away in their tent, and again I feel a slow smile spread across my face. I don't want this feeling to stop.

I wonder if this has anything to do with Aslan? Words can't describe how I felt when I saw him today, alive and whole. It was like a great weight had been lifted, only to be replaced by a different one. I was happy, overjoyed even. But at the same time, there was the guilt of knowing what he had done, and why, mingled with the remaining guilt of my own actions... It's still there, hiding at the back. I wonder if it will ever get better, or go away. I can't think about it, though... not now.

O o O o O

I'm not sure how long it had been since the end of the battle... maybe an hour, perhaps. An hour since we had saved Narnia from Jadis' control. An hour since I had nearly died, an hour since Aslan had returned from the dead and saved us all. To tell the truth, it seemed far longer. All I knew was that nothing seemed real; it was all moving in a blur. It had been since I had seen _Him_ on the battlefield.

_It hadn't seemed real. I had looked up over Peter's shoulder, toward one of Jadis' victims, a satyr that she had turned to stone. Standing there, large as life, was Aslan... I was stunned! It shouldn't have been possible! I watched in silence as the great Lion breathed on the satyr-statue, and I heard a collective gasp from myself and my family as the satyr came back to life. It was like watching ice thaw, just faster. I found myself wondering just who Aslan was, what kind of being he was..._

_All my questions disappeared a second later. He looked straight at me, those deep, golden eyes finding mine, and everything just stopped. All my doubts, my growing fear at seeing someone who was supposed to be dead, the disbelief that we had all made it, just vanished; it faded into nothing, and as Aslan nodded at me, acknowledging me and my family, I somehow felt that there would be no more need for fear or doubt, so long as I believed in him. I've never felt that way about anything in my whole life._

I sat in one of the medical tents at our camp, watching as a group of satyr and faun healers worked on my brother's arm. It was typical of Peter, really. He had all but carried me from the field, Susan at our side, and made sure that I was seen to first. He had stood there, fretting as only Peter can, while the healers stripped me of my armour and started to check me over. I had a few bruises that were slowly healing, and a couple of cuts and scrapes that closed up as the healers examined them. The stab wound I had received from the Witch was now nothing more than a thin scar, pale against even my skin. It ached terribly, and one of the fauns had given me a cup of something for the pain. It smelled bad, and tasted worse, but it worked quickly enough. After a few moments more of checking that I wasn't about to die on the spot, the healers left the tent.

While I was trying to stomach the herbal remedy, Susan looked to Peter, who was starting to look a bit pale. She reached out and touched his arm, whilst telling him that I would be fine and that he should probably change out of his armour. The second she touched his right arm, Peter hissed sharply and pulled away. Susan looked down at his arm, then her own hand, and I was as surprised as she looked when we saw blood on her fingertips.

"Peter!" Susan said loudly, her voice panicked. "You're bleeding! Why didn't you tell us you'd been hurt?"

"There's been more important things to deal with," Peter replied quietly with a slight shrug, sounding tired, and far older than he was. "Family comes first."

"The last I checked," I snapped, standing as quickly as I could without too much pain, "you are just as much a part of this family as I am. What's gotten into you?" Peter remained silent, refusing to meet my stare. I looked from my brother to Susan, who had a look of disbelief that rivalled my own. After a few seconds, she spoke.

"Some man in a red suit gives him a sword and shield," she said, her voice showing less anger than her eyes, "and he thinks he's St. George. I'll get the healers." And in a flurry of skirts and tent flaps, she was gone. I watched her leave, a little confused at her odd statement, then turned my attention back to Peter.

"What's this all about, Pete?" I asked, probably glaring at him harder than I meant to. He was injured, and he hadn't told us... I just wanted to know why. I thought about asking him what Susan had meant as well, but decided that the matter could wait.

"It just didn't matter," Peter said after a few moments, his voice still quiet. I opened my mouth, ready to shoot him down before he started on that road again, when he raised a hand, motioning for me to stop. Slowly, painfully, he sat down on the cot next to me.

"I nearly lost you out there today," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "After getting you back, she nearly took you away again. I had to be sure that you were safe first, that you were all safe. I promised Mum." With those words, his shoulders slumped. This was a rare moment; I was seeing the real Peter, the one beneath all the armour, and not just the metal plate he had been given. The Peter that would go to any lengths for us, no matter the cost. The Peter that hid the burden that came with that position. Slowly, trying not to cause him any more discomfort, I put my arm around his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, for once becoming the comforter.

"I'm still here, Peter," I said, keeping my own voice low. "And I'm not going anywhere soon, I promise. No more wandering off." Those last words managed to raise a smile, albeit a small one. A moment of calm passed between us, the pair of us just happy to be safe and mostly whole, before Susan returned with the healers. They seemed in quite a state, seeing that they had yet another future king to patch up, and it quickly became apparent that they weren't going to take Peter's excuse of 'It's just a scratch' at face value.

Susan and I watched as the satyrs began removing Peter's armour, while the fauns busied themselves with preparing their equipment. As the outer layers of my brother's protective garb came free, it quickly became apparent that he had been wounded more badly than we had guessed. His padded gambeson was soaked with blood down his right side, and a deep gash on his right arm was easily visible. The healers quickly got to cleaning the wound, and removing several pieces of broken mail that had become embedded in the skin.

I sat quietly next to Susan, watching in silence as the group of creatures moved around our brother. I looked over at her, and saw that she was almost as pale as Peter, her features pinched with worry. She was obviously feeling as useless as I was, seeing Peter in such a state; in her own way, Susan has always been as protective of us as my brother. For maybe the first time, I had a glimpse of how she felt, this feeling of worry about our family. I caught her eye, eventually, and offered her a smile, trying to reassure her. Susan smiled back, and even reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. It steadied me a little, in a way, and I was glad of the distraction.

I've always hated just sitting around, waiting to be useful, especially when it involves one of my family... though I may not have shown that in recent years. It's a horrible sensation, that feeling of being useless; it's one of the reasons that I've always hated being in or around hospitals. Whilst I wanted to be there for Peter, I hated seeing him hurt and not being able to do anything. Susan must have seen this, I think. As the healers finally finished patching Peter's arm, and told him that he needed to rest, Susan turned to me.

"Why don't you go and find Lucy?" she said, giving me a warm smile. "She should be somewhere nearby. Go on, I'll keep an eye on Peter." I looked at my brother, seeking his approval, I guess, and he nodded slowly, letting me know that he was alright. I hesitated for a few more seconds, torn between wanting to stay with him, and desperately needing to get outside and do something. Peter looked at Susan, raising his eyebrows slightly with a knowing look in his eyes. She simply smiled in return, and proceeded to usher me outside, making the decision for me.

Sometimes, it drives me mad that my family know me so well... sometimes.

O o O o O

I started to look for Lucy amongst the many creatures milling around the camp... there seemed to be a great deal more than before, and I remembered that someone had mentioned reinforcements arriving with Aslan. I also noticed several creatures and animals that I knew for certain had been turned into stone by the Witch; again, evidence of Aslan's power. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering just who he was, how one being could do so much. How it was possible for a lion, Talking or otherwise, to return from the dead...

While I was busy thinking, Lucy found me. I had wandered almost to the edge of our camp, when I heard a shrill cry of excitement from behind me. I turned around, and there she was, running as fast as she could toward me, laughing all the way. One of the things I've always admired about Lucy is her laugh. Even on my worst days, when I hated everything around me with a passion, her laugh was so light, so infectious, that I couldn't help but want to join in. Which was probably part of the reason I used to be so mean to her... jealousy can be a horrible thing.

Watching as my little sister ran helter-skelter toward me, I felt my growing smile begin to fade. Behind her, walking at a much more sedate pace, was perhaps the last person I had expected to see. The last time I had seen Lucy's friend, Mr. Tumnus, he had been turned into solid stone. Jadis had seen to it that his last moments were filled with a lot of pain, if his expression had been anything to go by. He had died protecting my sister, protecting my family, where I had betrayed them... and it was all my fault. A moment later, I was nearly bowled sideways as Lucy flung her arms around me. She squeezed me tight for a few seconds, before stepping back a little and grinning broadly.

"Oh Edmund!" she cried, the happiest I had heard her sound in ages. "Isn't it just wonderful? We've been able to save so many Narnians, and Aslan is bringing the stone ones back to life, and... and look! I can finally introduce you to Mr Tumnus!" She grinned up at the faun, who had finally joined us.

"Mr. Tumnus," she said, her voice taking on a mock-serious tone, "this is my brother Edmund. Edmund, this is Mr. Tumnus." I looked up at Tumnus nervously, not sure what to expect from him. I remembered the last time I had seen him, remembered the look of disbelief, shock, then utter disappointment on his face as he was taken away by the Witch's guard. By turning him in, I had done him more harm than most, even though I hadn't meant to do it.

"Hello, Edmund," he said quietly, offering a weak smile, and a curious dip of the body that seemed to be half bow, half curtsey. I offered him a small smile of my own, feeling completely dreadful, and returned his 'hello'.

"I've just got one last place to visit," Lucy cut in cheerfully. "I'll be back in a minute. You two get to know one another, and I'll see you when I get back." With one last smile, she left. Tumnus and I watched her go, our little ray of sunshine... I could see plainly from his expression that he already loved her dearly, a true and close friend. The thought made me feel ten times worse for what I had done to him.

"She really is the most delightful person," the faun began quietly, still not looking at me, the smile he had worn for my sister fading slowly. "You're very lucky to have her as a sister."

"I'm very lucky to have all of my family," I admitted. I looked up at him, and waited while he shifted his attention to me.

"Look," I began, shuffling my feet nervously, and resisting the urge to look down or away. "I'm... I'm sorry for what I did, for what you went through because of me. I didn't mean for any of it to happen, honestly I didn't. I'm..." Mr. Tumnus waved his hands at me gently, signalling for me to be quiet.

"I know," he said plainly. "I know that you never meant for it to happen. I know that, had circumstances been different, we might even have been friends from the start. But it happened the way it happened, and no amount of wishing can take that back. We have both made mistakes, Edmund Pevensie; Aslan alone knows that I made more than my fair share under... under _her _reign." He sounded upset, understandably so, and more than a little sad, along with a hint of something else... anger? Regret?

"I... I think it best that Lucy doesn't know about our history, Edmund Pevensie. At least, she will not hear of it from me," he continued. "She has a good heart, Edmund, and a very clean, simple view of the world. I won't do anything to change that. If you choose to tell her at some point, I will understand, but for now, at least..."

"I understand. Thank you," I said, unsure of what else to say. Whilst I had known, deep down, that not everyone would be able to immediately forgive my first actions in Narnia, I was still bitterly disappointed that events had turned out this way. "I want you to know...if there is any way I can make amends..." I tried to continue, but the faun cut in once more.

"Maybe, in time," Tumnus said, more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. "For Lucy's sake, I will try. But it will take time, Edmund. What you did is no easy thing to forgive." And with that, he went off to find my sister again. I watched him go, an unpleasant feeling settling in my stomach. In many ways, I wish he had been openly furious with me; if he had shouted at me, or called me a traitor as Mr. Beaver had, I somehow feel that it would have been easier to deal with. As it was, the whole thing just left me feeling... hollow.

O o O o O

I still felt out of sorts at dinner tonight. We had held a feast, of sorts, the whole camp sitting around a bonfire, celebrating our victory over Jadis, and remembering the fallen. We had eaten, and many of us had told stories, both of recent valour and of ancient Narnia, and those of us that were musically minded sang a few songs. There had been a little dancing, mostly led by the fauns and satyrs, and I had even taken part. Of course, Susan and Lucy dragging me bodily into the dance had nothing to do with it... but even so, I was enjoying myself.

I eventually found myself sitting in one of the quieter corners of the group, watching the dances from a safe distance. I watched as Lucy danced in intricate circles with a group of fauns, Mr. Tumnus amongst them. I was amazed at how quickly she had picked up the steps, and couldn't help but smile at how much she was enjoying herself. As I spotted Susan trying to dance with one of the centaur archers, my smile deepened. I felt more at home than I ever had in England.

The reason why, I had decided, was sitting on the opposite side of the bonfire from me. Aslan, in all his golden glory, stood with General Oreius and my brother, both of whom, I am glad to say, were now in fine health. Aslan was speaking to the other two, both of whom looked to be deep in thought. As I watched them, I had the sudden urge to be over there with them; partly, I wanted to keep an eye on my brother, who I was still a little worried about, but mostly I just felt that I needed to be close to Aslan. Despite how happy I felt, at the same time I still had a lot of doubts, and more than a few fears.

I can't quite explain the feeling. I guess I just needed comfort and advice, of a different sort than my brother or sisters could provide. Maybe because I was missing my parents, maybe because I just had so much to ask, but I wanted more than anything at that point to talk with the Lion. I wanted to feel his breath upon me, to know that all would be right with the world, just like I had the first time I had met him.

"...And then Old Broadleaf says to me, 'That wasn't a walnut, you silly boy, that was my head'!"

A round of shrill, unbounded laughter broke me from my thoughts. For a second, I was puzzled by the tail-end of the conversation I had just heard. Then I realised who it was that had been speaking; in the middle of the group of animals nearest to me, mostly smaller creatures like hedgehogs, rabbits and the like, was a young squirrel. I think his name was Skitterleaf, or something to that effect. Either way, the small, reddy-brown animal was clutching his sides, struggling to control his own laughter, whilst occasionally gasping out the word 'walnut'.

His neighbours were all chuckling along with him, obviously having found his story funny, and before long, I found myself joining in. I hadn't heard the joke, and doubted that I would have appreciated it properly if I did; squirrels have a strange sense of humour, I have found. But the sound was so infectious, and the atmosphere so happy because of it, that I couldn't help myself. The sound of my voice caught the group's attention, and a moment later I was receiving nods of acknowledgement and small cries of 'good health, majesty', along with a few cups raised in my direction.

I'm pretty sure that my face chose that highly inopportune moment to blush. That kind of attention has always embarrassed me a little, to say the least. But I did manage to raise my own goblet in return, and mumble something to the effect of 'thanks'. As I looked up for a second, my attention was drawn away from the party, and once more to Aslan. He wasn't where I had last seen him, but was instead walking slowly into the tree line on the other side of the camp site. If I was going to talk with him, ask him the many questions that were plaguing my mind, then now was as good a time as any... I stood, plucking up my courage (though, on hindsight, I don't know why I had to), said a brief farewell to my new friends, and followed after the Great Lion.

O o O o O

After the warmth of the bonfire, and the noise and merriment of the feast, the woods felt almost unnaturally cool and quiet. It felt a little like the trees were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. I walked slowly, as quietly as I could, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere, though I wasn't entirely sure why. As I followed after Aslan, watching as he made his own slow, thoughtful way towards a small clearing, I started to wonder if perhaps he might prefer to be alone.

I ended up standing just inside the tree line, on the edge of that clearing. Aslan made no sign that he knew I was there, and I found myself a little torn between approaching him, and just leaving him to his thoughts. He just looked... serene, I suppose. The moonlight reflected from his fur and mane, making him seem to shimmer. He just looked so large, and peaceful, so much a part of the world around him, that I couldn't stop looking at him, nor could I even think about disturbing him. And it was at about that time that I realised that I could hear something, something that had been there all along, but had been so quiet that I hadn't noticed.

Singing. As I stood watching Aslan, I listened to the rustling of the trees around me, hearing the sounds of the wind as it moved the branches around me. It struck me a few moments later that there _was_ no wind. I listened harder, and found to my surprise that there was a deeper sound; what I had thought was rustling was, in fact, simply the higher notes of a broader range of sounds. It was like hearing whispering in another room, just on the edge of hearing, but the more I listened, the more I could make out. And the more I made out, the more I understood. It was a song without words, a melody of quiet joy, of thanks; and it was directed towards the Lion.

It was beautiful. As I listened to the song, feeling it wash over me, I soon found that there was another sound mixed with it all, something that I could feel rather than hear. A slow, steady rhythm ran beneath it all, and it only took me a moment more to find the source. Aslan was breathing on the ground of the clearing, a long, steady breath, seemingly endless, rising and falling gently in time with the song of the trees. And then, as quietly as it had all started, everything stopped.

"You can come closer, Edmund," Aslan said, his clear, deep voice showing a hint of amusement. "I will not bite you." He turned, fixing his gaze on me, and before I could stop myself I was walking out into the clearing, drawn to him. Those deep, golden eyes held mine for a few silent moments, and then he spoke once more.

"You seem troubled, dearheart," he said, more a statement than a question. I nodded in response, finding myself unsure of just where to start, despite the whirl of questions going through my mind. Sensing my unease, I think, Aslan simply smiled patiently, before nuzzling me slightly. "You can speak your mind, Edmund. Ask me your questions," he said, his voice gentle.

"I... I just wanted to know," I began, then faltered. "I guess... why me?" Aslan purred softly, a sound akin to a laugh, before laying down. After a second, I realised that he was waiting for me to join him. I sat down next to Aslan, the tiniest of gaps between us.

"Do you trust me, Son of Adam?" The question caught me off guard, and it was a few seconds before I could muster a response.

"Yes, Aslan," I said quietly, only slightly surprised at the conviction in my answer.

"Yet you doubt my choice?" Aslan's tone became deeper, more grave than it had been, and I found that I couldn't meet his eyes. Aslan sighed slightly, before speaking again.

"Rest assured, Edmund Pevensie, that I do not. You and your family were chosen for Narnia, because you are what Narnia needs."

"But I made so many mistakes," I said, finding myself close to tears. "How can anyone want me for a King?"

"It is true that some may not be able to forgive, to begin with. But I ask of you, have patience. Show them by example. You made mistakes and did wrong, dearheart, but you learned from your actions. You learned, and became better for it. Keep learning, my child, and have faith. You will never be alone in this, and I ask no more of my children than they can bear. I trust you."

Hearing the warmth in his voice, his conviction, I felt a small tear break free and slide down my cheek. His words, his belief in me and my family, had brought to the fore the most important question I had known in my short life. I wasn't sure that I could ask it, didn't know if it was even right for me to ask. But I needed to, and so I did. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my tunic, and took a steadying breath, before looking at the Lion beside me.

"Why did you do it, Aslan?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. From his expression, I could tell that Aslan knew exactly what I was asking, a fact I was secretly glad of.

"Come closer, Edmund," he said, his own voice quiet yet inviting. I was starting to feel cold from the night air, and was glad of the chance to be nearer to the Lion. I shuffled over, resting against his side, and almost at once I could feel his warmth spreading into my body. "There are many reasons that I took your place, Edmund; reasons that I will not burden you with. Let it be enough to know that I died for my people. I died to appease the Deep Magic, and save my land and those I love most, which includes you, young one. But most of all, I died for the Oldest Magic of them all. For love. Let that be enough, for now."

"Who are you, Aslan?" The question escaped my lips before I could stop it. I was so awed by his power, his wisdom, and his love for everything, that I just had to know more about him... as soon as the question was asked, however, I realised that it could have sounded a little rude, and so I found myself cringing a little. Aslan noticed my reaction, and laughed out loud, deep and rich.

"You need not fear asking that question," he said. "But know this, dearheart. To answer would take a long time indeed, and I would have to tell you a great many stories. As I have told you, I tell no-one any story other than their own." With another deep purr that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, he stood up, turning to face me where I sat.

"I will tell you this," he said, his warm breath and his sweet scent washing over me, filling me with a kind of inner peace. "I am the son of my great Father, the Emperor over the Sea, and his servant in all things. I am, have always been, and ever shall remain, myself." He leaned forward, touching my forehead with his tongue; a lion's kiss. He smiled at me, and I returned it with one of my own.

"And I am also one who loves you very much," he finished. "Now rise up, Edmund Randall Pevensie. Rise up, and know me better..."

O o O o O

Aslan walked me back to the camp, and we talked the whole way. He explained a little of the Deep Magic, of how the Stone Table came to be broken and his return to life. He explained what he had been doing in the wooded clearing; by breathing on the ground, he had been curing the land, and returning life to those victims of the Witch that had yet to be found. My mind had been drawn to the fox and the butterfly that Jadis had condemned to stone on the ridge, and Beaver's friend Badger and his family, who Lucy had told me about. They were free now; Narnia was free.

We talked about the plans for a coronation that had been set in motion. In the morning, our camp will move to Cair Paravel, the Castle of the Four Thrones, and as soon as the preparations have been completed, Aslan plans to crown my brother, sisters and I. I confessed my nerves about that occasion, and Aslan reassured me that it would all be alright. Eventually, we reached my tent, and Aslan bid me a good night. I was fighting off the urge to yawn by that point, and shivering from the cold a little, and so I was glad to turn in for the night...

As I lay here, feeling sleep creeping up on me in that slow way that it does, I can't help but believe Aslan's words. It will be alright. That's not to say that everything will be easy; we might have to fight for our new kingdom. There's going to be a lot of work to repair all the damage Jadis did, and sorting out her remaining followers. And, on a personal level, I know that I have my own private battle to wage against the damage I have done, both to myself and those around me.

But that can wait until morning...

* * *

Author's Notes: Disclaimer first. I do not own Narnia, nor any of its inhabitants. Pity, really.

To all those who thought that I'd given up on this, my humblest apologies... I never gave up. This chapter has been an absolute killer to write, combining difficult subject material with the great-granddaddy of all writer's blocks... but enough excuses. Suffice it to say that, if you have stuck with my story this long, and are still enjoying it, then I pray your indulgence for a little while longer. There is, after all, one more chapter to go!

I hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint. Any and all comments are most welcome, if you have the time. Thank you, one and all.

Special thanks go to Elecktrum and FaithfulPureLight, as ever, for their support and help (and occasional nudging). I owe you.


	10. Once a King of Narnia

Once a King of Narnia...

Everything feels so strange...

When I woke up this morning, I still felt like an ordinary ten year-old boy. But at the same time, I felt completely different. Admittedly, I was in a larger, more comfortable bed than I have ever known, covered in wonderfully warm blankets, and I could smell an ocean breeze coming in through the windows. But it was still the same me; hair messed up from too long on my pillow, eyes barely open, and not in the least bit impressed with my darling little sister... Lucy had woken me up by bouncing on my bed.

I've always been a heavy sleeper, and have always had trouble waking up in the morning. Just ask my family; I'm not a pleasant sight, and not good company, either. I will admit that I did moan a bit at Lucy when she woke me up today, but instead of complaining too much, I pulled her down onto the bed and started tickling her. I can't remember the last time I did something like that, or had that much fun, if I'm honest.

Susan and Peter found the pair of us in a heaving, giggling mass of bed-covers, and it wasn't very long before they joined in too. The noise raised more than a few eyebrows, to be sure, as several of the Narnians assigned to be our guards came rushing in to find out what was going on! It was a feeling that I hadn't really felt for far far too long, a feeling of family, of belonging. I hoped there and then that it would never end.

Getting ready for the coronation this afternoon, I still felt strange, different even. I haven't felt this happy, this _peaceful_, since the day Father left for the war... maybe even before then. Sure, there was still a lot on my mind. Even now, I still have lingering memories of my first few days in Narnia. I have just really started rebuilding my relationship with my family. I miss my home, and my parents. On top of all that, I was getting ready to be crowned King of a magical land that I barely knew! I should have been feeling fit to burst, but instead I just felt happy, and more than a little excited, in a calm kind of way... a bit contradictory, I know, but that is the only way I can describe it.

I had just finished having a bath, and caught my reflection in the mirror. It was different to the one I was used to; a little taller, a little skinnier perhaps, but still recognisable, with with my too-pale skin and more freckles than I would like. My eyes were the most changed, though... I almost didn't recognise them, at first. They looked older, as strange as that sounds even to me. _I _looked older, and I couldn't quite decide why. I did decide, eventually, that I was older, in a way; I was certainly not the boy I had been, if that makes sense.

Then there was the scar. As I was drying my hair, the scar on my stomach pulled taut, stinging a little, and reminding me that it was there. I remember running my fingers over the mark, and having a brief flash of memory; intense cold, and a sharp stab of pain. It lasted less than a second, but it was enough. I could see _her _face, snarling at me, willing me to die, wanting me to break down and give in... only this time, I refused. I wouldn't let Jadis get to me, I wouldn't, but it was so hard to stay focussed. I closed my eyes, and took a few deep breaths, remembering the happy feeling of just a few moments before.

If it hadn't been for the Fox, I might have given in to my memories. As it was, I heard a voice coming from my room; it was a voice that I recognised, but I couldn't place where I'd heard it before. I quickly finished dressing, and went to find out. To my complete surprise, standing in the middle of the main chamber was someone I hadn't expected to ever see again – the Fox that I had tried to save on the hill. I was stuck somewhere between joy at seeing him alive, and embarrassment at the memory of how he had come to be turned into stone in the first place. I'm not sure how much of that showed on my face, but if the Fox's expression was anything to go by, probably quite a bit.

"My apologies for intruding, Your Majesty," the Fox said, bowing his head slightly, sounding slightly uncomfortable. "Your royal brother asked me to check on you, and to tell you that a valet will be with you shortly to help you prepare for the coronation."

"Thank you," I said - well, sort of mumbled, actually - and after another bow he turned to leave. I thought about just letting him go, but I had to say something, embarrassment or not. I called out to him, and he stopped, turning to face me with an unreadable expression on his face. "Would... would you mind staying for a little while?" I asked. "I could use the company, and, umm, I kind of wanted to talk to you."

"Certainly, King Edmund," he replied, and walked back toward me. I smiled nervously at him, and wondered where to begin. Standing there, looking down at him as he looked back almost expectantly, I felt rather uncomfortable myself. So I sat down, right there on the floor, so that I could be face to face with the Fox. A moment later, the Fox sat down too, and I found myself deciding on just what to say.

"Umm, what's your name?" was apparently the best I could come up with. With the amount of apologising I've done over the past few days, you would think it becomes easier... trust me, it doesn't.

"Giles, my lord," was the Fox's simple reply. His quietness was a little unnerving, but he didn't seem unkind, or even particularly upset with me in any way.

"Giles? That's a nice name," was my own slightly weak response. "Listen, Giles, I ... I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry she turned you to stone. And... and I'm sorry I let you down." I thought of the expression he had worn, after I tried to save him by giving Jadis the information she wanted. The thought made me feel a little ill.

"Thank you," Giles said after a few long moments, a smile crossing his face. "Though, there was no need to apologise. You didn't let me down, my King."

"How do you mean?" I asked, a little confused at his reasoning. "You were turned into a statue because of me."

"Perhaps," Giles said, looking thoughtful. "Then again, it may have happened anyway. I had been spying on her forces, after all."

"I just wanted to stop her hurting you," I said. "She'd already hurt too many people because of me... I'm sorry. You looked so disappointed with me."

"If I looked disappointed, I apologise, my King. I'm glad that you tried to save my life, I truly am. I appreciated your efforts, but at the same time I wished that you had kept silent, or else told her something other than the truth. You see, I was willing to die, if it meant more time could be bought for our forces."

"Another mistake," I whispered, half to myself. "I've made so very many, recently. And please, it's just Edmund. I'm not a king yet, you know."

"Very well, Edmund it is," Giles smiled.

"You were really ready to die?" I asked, a little in awe. The Fox nodded slowly. "You're very brave, Giles. Far braver than I was. I did so much damage when I first came here."

"Do not be so hard on yourself, Edmund," Giles replied. "Don't you see? Already you were trying to mend your ways, up on that ridge. Edmund, I have heard that some have called you a traitor. I want you to know that I do not believe them. You made a single mistake, and trusted someone you should not have. Whilst that wrong could have undone much, since then you have done a lot of good, and fought to redeem yourself. From what I have heard, you were more than willing to risk yourself for your family and this country. Without your efforts, the battle may have been lost altogether. I have known traitors, Edmund. Believe me when I tell you that you are far less of a traitor, and far more of a king, than you probably know."

"How can you be sure?" I asked, stunned by his words. In truth, I hadn't truly thought about it that way... even after Aslan told me I had been forgiven, I had still only really thought about all I had done wrong, not the things I may have done right.

"As I said, I have known traitors," Giles said, sounding sad, breaking into my thoughts. "In a way, I am one myself."

"You?" I asked, surprised. "A traitor?"

"After a fashion," the Fox replied, a wry smile crossing his face. "I turned my back on my own family, so that I might follow Aslan." I sat in silence, unsure of what to say, until the silence became a bit uncomfortable. Eventually, I spoke up.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't talk about it very often," he said softly, then took a deep breath. "But perhaps, in this case... My father, Ranulph Greytail, was the head of the once-noble House Cinnabar. His father held that position once, and his father before him, for generations; some say all the way back to the times of King Frank and Queen Helen. For generations, my family held a high position amongst the nobles of Narnia. We were trusted by many, and were often sought out for our sage council and for our diplomatic skills.

"Then, a hundred years ago, Jadis came. She brought her winter, and her armies of fell creatures. The line of Adam fought against her, and fought bravely, but the Witch commanded powerful forces. Toward the end of the war, when Narnia was most in need of a great victory, the King of the time came to the House of Cinnabar, seeking advice in his war against her tyranny. The head of the house at the time, Gerard, counselled that the King should face Jadis in open warfare, forcing a final battle between our forces and hers, and helped him arrange battle plans. The King gathered his army, and under Aslan's banner marched against the Witch.

"The Narnian army was ambushed and all but destroyed. Jadis had recruited Narnians to her side, promising them power and riches in return for their handing over the throne to her. Among the chief traitors were my family. We had betrayed the rightful King. Since that day, House Cinnabar have worked as spies for the Witch's secret police. My father and both of my brothers died in that service. I am the last of my household."

"How did they die?" I asked, adjusting my position on the carpet as my legs started to go a little numb. A hopeful thought had started to form, as I briefly remembered Aslan's actions of a couple of nights ago, when he had breathed on the land and healed it. If they had been turned to stone...

"Jadis had them executed," Giles said, his voice heavy, and my heart fell at the finality in his voice. "They gave her information on a group of Narnians that were causing her problems. She sent her wolves, but they found nothing; I had warned the rebels, and in her anger the Witch had my family killed. All because of me."

I didn't know what to say. Giles had done the right thing, for all the right reasons, and had lost his family as a result. I have to admit that, hearing his story, I felt both a great amount of pity for Giles, and no small amount of sadness. The Fox looked up at me then, and his sad expression seemed to melt a little.

"I'm sorry, Edmund," he said softly. "I didn't tell you this to upset you. That would never be my intention, least of all today, of all days. I tell you my story because there is a lesson to be learned. I made a hard decision, but despite my loss I know that I did the right thing. As a King, you will make many decisions, most of them harder than even I can likely guess. But Aslan trusts you to make those decisions. Learn from your mistakes, try to be fair in all things, and don't be afraid to ask for help. You won't go too far wrong, I think. The trick is, you have to trust yourself. "

"I sometimes wonder if I can," I said slowly. Giles reached forward, and placed his paw on my hand.

"Your family does," he said. "So does Aslan. And so do I, if I may say so. You feel things deeply, Edmund, and you think things through; perhaps a little too much, if it is not too bold." I managed a smile at that; I could picture Peter saying something about the opposite being true. "My point is that you have to have faith. Faith in yourself, faith in your family, faith in Aslan. Have faith in your own abilities, and in His blessings. And remember that so long as you do, you will never be alone."

"I hope everyone is as understanding as you," I said, a small smile crossing my face.

"Most will be," Giles said. "If I might offer some advice? Worry a little less about the past, and concentrate on the future. If you dwell too long on what has been, you will never move forward. We are a good people, my King, and few of us hold a grudge for very long. You have been forgiven, as I said. Let that be enough." He stood then, and I joined him.

"I must go," Giles said, smiling at me. "I have a few things to see to before the coronation begins. I will see you there, my liege. Before I go, though, I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"Yes?"

"There is a lion downstairs... I suppose in human terms he would not be a lot older than yourself. He hasn't even started growing a mane yet. Quite the excitable young creature. He... well, he has some odd markings on his face..." I felt myself starting to redden. It was the lion I had drawn on in Jadis' courtyard, it had to be; I had almost forgotten about him!

"Oh no!" I groaned. "Is he very angry?"

"He seems to think it is quite the honour, actually," Giles said, grinning. "Apparently Aslan told him that it was a mark of respect, that you had been intimidated by his fierceness and had marked him accordingly." I had never pictured a fox raising his eyebrows before, but he did.

"Nearly true," I said, embarrassed. Giles grinned some more. "It sounds like we should stick with that story, though!"

"Very wise," Giles replied with a laugh. He left then, and just a few moments later, a faun arrived to help me prepare for the coronation. I felt happier again, having talked to Giles. I don't know if it was because of what he had said, or if it was more to do with having apologised to the last Narnian I had directly affected by my actions. Whatever it was, I felt... not ready, I think, but more ready than I had been to accept that I had a future here, and to face what was to come. I felt lighter, in a way. Less burdened. I just had to have faith in my family, and in my new friends, and to trust that I would never prove their faith in me to be poorly placed.

O o O o O

The coronation was everything I had imagined, and so much more. I had seen the throne room of Cair Paravel just once before today, when we had moved into the castle, and Aslan had begun organising the castle's preparation. I had been impressed by it's size, certainly, and the glass roof was unlike anything I had ever seen. But today, seeing the hall decorated so beautifully, and filled with so many Narnians in their best dress, it was beyond amazing.

As we walked toward the thrones, Peter to my right, then Aslan and the girls, my heart was practically in my throat, I was so nervous. I kept my hands closed so that the smiling faces we passed couldn't see them shaking from my excitement, and I'm pretty sure that I was grinning like an idiot; I'm glad that Aslan was there, in all truth, or else my nerves might have given way. But, as it was, I made it to the dais at the end of the hall without tripping over my feet, and turned to face the Great Lion.

The ceremony was simple and elegant, though in all truth I expected no less from Aslan. We were introduced to the Narnians formally, and Aslan announced our new titles; Lucy the Valiant, Edmund the Just, Susan the Gentle, and Peter the Magnificent. Peter was also titled as High King, due to his position as eldest of our family. As Mr. Tumnus placed our crowns upon our heads, it struck me that my family really did look like royalty, and their titles fit each of them perfectly. We sat down on our thrones, then, and Aslan closed the ceremony.

"Once a king or queen of Narnia," he said, his deep voice echoing around the room, "always a king or queen. May your wisdom grace us, until the stars fall down from the heavens." I was so excited, it was all I could do to sit still. I spotted Giles in the crowd, standing next to the lion that he had mentioned to me earlier. Both of them were smiling, and I nodded slightly, smiling along with them.

Before long, there was dancing, and feasting, and more dancing; I've never known a people so full of life, so willing to embrace happiness as the Narnians. It's so unlike England. There, everything is so grey and dull. Even before the war, there was never anything about the place or the people that could compare to this; even the best party I could have imagined would have looked like a funeral, when compared to the celebration that my family and I became the centre of.

I let the excitement and the joy carry me along with it; dancing until my feet hurt (even though I hate dancing), eating food more delicious than I could have imagined. I talked and laughed, and even sang, with every Narnian that approached me, as well as my family. For perhaps the first time in, well, _forever_, it seems, I felt like I truly belonged...

Eventually, after a very long time, I found myself standing in a quiet corner of the great hall, watching my family. I was just a little tired, I guess. Peter was dancing with a dryad, Susan with a faun, and Lucy was sitting with Mr. Tumnus and the beavers off to one side, laughing at one of Mr. Beaver's jokes. They all looked so very happy, and seeing them so made me feel warm inside, through and through. For whatever reason, the thought that I had nearly lost all of this threatened to bubble to the surface, then, and I felt a sudden need to be alone. I do that sometimes, I've never known why. And so it was that I found myself slipping outside for some fresh air.

O o O o O

It's a funny thing to think that I never used to feel the cold. Well, that isn't entirely true. I felt it, but somehow it bothered me less. Winter was always my favourite time of year; I would be the first to run out into the snow, Mother hollering after me to put on my scarf. I would beg the others to make snow-angels with me, or build a snowman, or even have a snowball fight. On more than one occasion, Father had to pick me up and carry me inside when it got too dark, as I never wanted to stop playing... not that I minded that too much, either, because if we had been very good then Mother would make us some hot chocolate, to keep the cold at bay.

Winter meant being with my family, gathered around a fire, listening to music on the wireless or to one of Father's stories. It meant Christmas and presents, our grandparents coming to see us, carols around the tree and roasted chestnuts. And, nine times out of ten, it meant me coming down with a winter cold because I didn't wrap up enough. Not that I ever learned. As soon as I was deemed fit, I was back outside...

I feel the cold now. Even though it has been the most gloriously warm day, even though there is only the slightest breeze coming in off of the ocean, I'm cold. I can't help shivering a little, and pulling my cloak a little tighter around myself every so often. From the little balcony that I've hidden away on, I can hear the party going on inside, hear the sounds of my family and the Narnians celebrating still; I know it will be warm in there, and that I will be amongst friends. But I can't bring myself to rejoin them. Not yet.

I hate the cold now. It carries too many memories for me, too many reminders of what I have done, too many reminders of _Her_. It's just one more thing that's been taken from me for my mistakes. I wonder if I'll ever enjoy anything again, sometimes. But then I think of Aslan, and my family, and I think that, for all that I've lost, I have gained so much more. And so I stay out here, partly to face my fears, partly to remind myself of what I've learned, and who I have become.

King Edmund the Just... I'm not sure if I will ever get used to that, even less sure that I am worthy of such a title. I still can't quite believe that all of this has happened, that I am here, in this place, let alone that I have been crowned along with my family. Four thrones, four rulers... the idea that someone prophesied my family's arrival over a thousand years ago is just overwhelming. The fact that I am now wearing a crown, that I have sworn an oath to serve and protect this land, is just as unbelievable. However did I get here? I shiver again, and start to wonder how much longer I can stay out here; a part of me still doesn't quite feel like going back. And so I stay, breath curling upward in little wisps, alone with my thoughts.

"I wondered where you'd got to."

It seems that someone, at least, has noticed my absence. I turn around, and find Peter smiling at me from the archway that leads onto the balcony. The smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, and I can see that I've worried him a little.

"I just needed to get some fresh air," I say, smiling back at my brother and hoping he won't be too upset at my disappearing from the party. My whole family have been keeping quite a close eye on me since the battle, almost as if they're afraid I'll just up and vanish on a whim. It's a little annoying, I'll admit, but at the same time it's immensely comforting.

"Ah," he says simply, as he walks over to join me. I turn to look out over the ocean again, as Peter leans on the balcony. He's quiet for a second, then continues. "You never did like things like this much, did you."

"Not really," I sigh. "It's not the party, really, so much as all the fuss. Over me, I mean."

"I think you might have to get used to it," Peter says with a laugh. "You _are_ a king now, you know? Or were you sleeping through the crowning part?" His smile is infectious, and I can't help but join in with a smile of my own.

"No, I wasn't," I whisper after a few seconds. I look up at him, and I think for a moment about telling him my fears; fears that I won't be a good king, that I've done far too much damage already to ever be truly accepted, despite everyone telling me the opposite. It's all so confusing. Peter looks back at me, and instantly his expression changes; he can see what I'm thinking, almost, like he's reading my mind. His look is one of understanding and love, and he moves to face me square on. And with one simple action, he answers my questions, and stops my fears dead in their tracks.

Peter steps forward, and pulls me into his arms, resting his chin on my head. I hold onto him too, curling my fingers into his tunic and closing my eyes as I rest my head against my brother's chest. We stay like this for a few moments, Peter rubbing my back in the same way Father used to, letting me know that he loves me, and that that is all that really matters; that I have my family, and they have me. After a few moments, he pulls back, and after dropping a small kiss onto my forehead, Peter smiles at me once more.

"Come on," he says gently. "We'd best get back inside before Susan sends out a search party. You know how she can get." We both grin at the thought, and as we start walking toward the door, Peter puts his arm around my shoulders. As he does so, and we step into the light of the banqueting hall, a thought comes to me.

I made a promise, not so long ago. It was less than a fortnight, and a whole lifetime away, a promise made by a very different boy sitting in an icy dungeon. I promised then that I would do everything I could to make up for what I had done. I had promised to do whatever it took to be better, to never let my family down again, to never hurt them if it was in my power. Now, I promised it again. I would give everything I had to be the best brother I could, and I added that I would try to be the best king I could, too. I would try my best to never let anyone else suffer for my mistakes again...

No more mistakes. No more hurt.

No more regrets.

_Fin._

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor have I in any way profited from, the characters portrayed within this story. They belong, in their entirety, to the wonderful imagination of C. S. Lewis, and whoever holds the copyright.

Author's Notes: I'll admit, this was a hard chapter to write, far harder than any of the others. I wanted the end to be positive, but at the same time going for a completely 'happy ending' just didn't seem to fit with the character of the story. So, after many sleepless nights, literally dozens of re-writes, and not a little panicking, this is the result.

In the end, having Edmund on the mend, but not the whole way there, seemed the sensible route to take. I believe that he would still have a lot of doubts, despite the various reassurances he has received over the last few chapters, not to mention being equal parts nervous and excited about becoming a king at just ten years old. I hope I got the mix right, I really do.

I hope you all enjoyed this. I've certainly enjoyed writing Regrets, both as a chance to write my first Narnia story, and as a chance to get inside the head of one of my favourite literary characters of all time. I'm immensly glad that this story has gone down as well as it has, and I would like to take this opportunity to offer a huge 'Thank You' to everyone who has taken time out to review. Your support, criticism and views have all been greatly appreciated, and if you're still reading this after all this time, I thank you again.

Finally, a couple of dedications:

To Elecktrum and FaithfulPureLight: For being some of the best friends a guy could ask for, for your support and guidance, and for being two of my guiding lights when it comes to Narnia fanfiction, you have my deepest thanks, good my friends. Don't know what I'd do without you. And E, thanks again for the use of Ed's middle name, and the Fox's first name. In case I have neglected to mention this before now, you are a genius, and it is a deep honour to be allowed to play in your sandbox.

To Paulabookworm: I did promise you a scene with the fox, and so here it is. I hope it meets your approval; it came as something of a surprise to me, that's for certain! The whole backstory comes from just a few lines near the beginning of the film; Beaver's calling the fox a traitor, and his reply that it was an unfortunate family resemblance. It seemed to fit, anyways.

Thanks again, everyone. As ever, all comments are most welcome.

MyBlueOblivion


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